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,