Oh, I think of old Ireland wherever I go.
And how oft have I sported through its pastures so green,
Where the wild fragrant daisy can always be seen,
For flowers in luxuriance there always do grow,
Oh, I think of old Ireland wherever I go.
But all my sad wanderings soon will be o’er,
And that isle of my heart I will never leave more,
Though deep is her sorrow, and bitter her woe,
Oh, I think of old Ireland wherever I go.