I Think of Old Ireland wherever I Go.

I’m a wanderer, now, from the land of my birth,

Far away from the scenes I hold dearest on earth,

And I’ve seen both the beauties of the Nile and Arno,

Still I think of old Ireland, wherever I go.

CHORUS

I think of old Ireland, across the blue wave,

I think of old Ireland, the land of the brave,

’Tis the home of the brave, where the wild shamrocks grow,