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If you ever go across the sea to |
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IrelandThen maybe at the closing of your day |
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You will sit and watch the moon rise over |
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CladdaghAnd watch the barefoot gossoons at their play |
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Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream |
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The women in the meadows making hay |
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And to sit beside a turf fire in the cabin |
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And see the sun go down on |
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Galway Bay |
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For the breezes blowing over the seas from |
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IrelandAre perfumed by the heather as they blow |
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And the women in the uplands diggin' prates |
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Speak a language that the strangers do not know |
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For the strangers came and tried to teach us their way |
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They scorned us just for being what we are |
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But they might as well go chasing after moonbeams |
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Or light a penny candle from a star |
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And if there is going to be a life hereafter |
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And if I am sure there's going to be |
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I will ask my |
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God to let me make my heaven |
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In that dear land across the |
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Irish sea |
