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Published on Jan 2, 2009
There's a dear little isle in the Western Ocean An island of purity, holy and grand Whose name fills its daughters and sons with emotion When heard on the shores of a far distant land. It's Ireland, God bless her, the birthplace of heroes The home of the patriot, warrior and sage Of bards and of chieftains whose names live in story May they live forever on history's page.
You once were a proud and a glorious nation Your name and your fame were known all o'er the world 'Til misfortune came o'er you and sad desolation And the emerald banner in slavery lay unfurled. They tortured your children, despoiled your green bowers They tried to exterminate you long, long ago But the Irish are somehow like wild, creeping flowers The faster you pluck them, the quicker they grow.
I love every blade of grass, green on your mountain, Every leaf on your tree, every rock upon your strand I love your green hills and your murmuring fountains I love you, a cuisle, my own dear native land.