Oh, I think of old Ireland, wherever I go.
And ’tis soon I’ll be home, in the land I love best,
In my own dearest Emerald Isle of the West,
Though now I am chasing the wild buffalo,
For I think of old Ireland wherever I go.
Yet though far away from that dear blessed sod,
I still offer up prayers to my country’s God,
To chase from her borders the base Saxon foe,
For I think of old Ireland wherever I go.
Dear land of the shamrock, and sweet smelling brier,