This crowded hall and touching light
Each heart among the throng
Awakes as tho’ a trumpet blast
Had sounded in their ears
The recollection of the past,
The memories of the years.
Oh, ’tis the spirit of the West, the spirit of the Celt,
The breed that spurned the alien breast and every wrong has felt,
And still tho’ far from fatherland, we never can forget
To tell ourselves with heart and hand,