be it only at the closing of your days
You can sit and watch the moon rise over Cladaur
And see the sun go down on galway bay

Just to hear again the ripple of the trout-stream
The women in the meadows making hay
For to sit beside at her fire in a cavern
And watch the bare-foot gossems at their play.

Oh the breeze is blowing o'er the sea from Ireland
Are perfumed by the heather as they blow
And the women in the uplands digging
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Speak a language that the strangers do not know.

Oh, the strangers came and tried to teach us their ways
They scorned us for being what we are
But they might as well go chasing after moonbeams
Or light a penny candle from a star.

And if there's going to be a life hereafter
As somehow I feel sure there's going to be
I will ask my God to let me make my heaven
In that dear land across the Irish Sea

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