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If you ever go across the sea to Ireland |
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Then maybe at the closing of your day |
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You will sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh |
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And see the sun go down on Galway Bay |
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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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Or to sit beside a turf fire in the cabin |
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And watch the barefoot gossoons at their play |
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For the breezes blowing o'er the seas from Ireland |
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Are perfum'd by the heather as they blow |
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And the women in the uplands diggin' praties |
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Speak a language that the strangers do not know |
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Oh, the strangers came and tried to teach their way |
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They scorn'd us just for being what we are |
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But they might as well go chasing after moon beams |
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Or light a penny candle from a star |
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And if there's going to be a life hereafter |
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That somehow I feel sure there's going to be |
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I will ask my God to let me make my heaven |
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In that dear land across the Irish sea |
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I will ask my God to let me make my heaven |
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In that dear land across the Irish sea |
