Tis the time my friend for all good men
To raise a glass on high,
And shout hurrah for the son's of Eire
Till our voices all run dry.
Tis the time again my aging friends
To raise a glass or two,
For those who fell as the Angelus bell
Rang out in the foggy dew.
Mc Garrigle rosin' up your bow
And we'll lilt to lively tune
So loud and proud as the banshee weeps
By the risin' of the moon.
Dear Mary, put your hand to harp
So sweet the world stands still,
Till the silence be disturbed again
By yonder whipoorwill.
Now come me lads, poteen for all
No somber silence dwellin'
Leave the grief for the priest atop the hill
For St Paddy is arisin'.
Here's to a Roman worth his salt
Who brought the word to heathen
And here's to the monks with their amber cure
Ah, the lyin' and deceivin'.
And pass a glass to old Kilty there
Oh father ye were a blister.
But ye stood steadfast for better times
Now as dead as the kings of Munster.
On God's own Holy Rock ye stood
On Cashel, brave and pure
The ground that hold's St Paddy's bones
A blessin', to be sure.
"Yes a man must be his own my son".
Were your partin' words to me,
So no hallowed ground will hold your soul
As long as your first son breathes.
Upon my back to the cliffs at Mohre
My father I will carry
Then offer him unto the waves
And down a pint in Derry.
But the glass will be a lonely one
For dear Seamus is a sleepin'
Under God's grand sky in a watery grave
His dark eyes still aflashin'.
Ah dear Seamus ye were the best of us,
Even now your laughter rings-
And I take solace in me pint.
I can no longer sing.
Sweet life now take the cares away
May I no longer fear
Bring the love that never dies
To those assembled here.
For we come to praise St Paddy
And the beauty that we see.
Ne'er will we rest ..in this holy quest
Till our rivers all run free.
No comments:
Post a Comment