Ah, mem’ries sweet awake, when in my hand I take,
This bunch of shamrock from my mother dear.—Chorus.
That mother now is dead, but still the words she said,
Will bloom within my heart like buds of spring,
I know the daisies wave so gently o’er her grave,
And ’round that spot the sweetest mem’ries cling.
So dear to me shall be this gift from o’er the sea,
And dearer far it grows from year to year,
When life from me shall part I’ll keep upon my heart
This bunch of shamrock from my mother dear.—Chorus.