A bunch of shamrock from my dear old mother,
A treasure dearer far than any other,
Though faded it shall rest upon my loving breast,
This bunch of shamrock from my dear old mother.
I see the cabin now, my mother’s saddened brow,
I hear the voice that whispered sweet good-bye,
“Remember, lad,” said she, “and true and honest be,”
Her words within my heart can never die.
Though oft the world is sad, my heart is ever glad,
I roam the vales again with happy cheer,