Thou hast not forgotten the friends that you parted,
To battle for country, for God, and our right;
And sad are thy tears for the lone broken-hearted,
Who silently languish in grief's fearful night;
Sweet Maid of Erin, they welcome thy footsteps,
And pray for thee daily and Erin go Bragh.
Sweet Maid of Erin, the green grass is springing
Beside where the loved ones of Erin lie low,
And down in the village the church-bells are ringing—
Alas! how thy minstrel is cast down with woe.