Spirit of the Ancient Isles

Spirit of the ancient isles, Of Erin and of Albion, I call to thee, Please come to us, Ancient spirit come to me, I call to thee, In moorland wind, And highland glen, In summer meadow, By Greenwood tree, I recall bluebells in spring, Autumn rains in Irish hills, Long winter nights by firesides, The places where the hidden brook glides, A deer in a forest glade, The Standing Stones the giants made, I recall that mystic land That lies unseen, So near at hand, Where ancestral beings, Weave out time, And listen to the voice Divine, I recall the bards of old, Of endless tales that they told, Of Bran and Branwynn, Of Taliesin and of Merlin, Of beacons burning in the night, And the forests of the light, I recall the other folk, That live inside the hills and mounds, Enchanting us with magic sounds, I recall the paths we trod, To the sacred groves, Of the great God Lugh, Of Dagda and the Goddess Danu, Of Bridey, Herne and Ceredwin, Gwion Bach and Finn McCool, Of Beltane, Sawain and of Yule, And of this and so much more, That grows inside the Celtic soul, It rises up inside us now, Like the young sap in the old tree, Like a root that grows, In you and me, And at last learns to be free,   With these words we do invoke, The ancient masters of the Oak, The Ash, the Thorn and every tree, In our secret ancestry,` To every soul to be awake, To rise up and see whats at stake, The root race that we must save, The seeds and grains, The life you gave, In the isles of Lugh and Math, Now is time to rise again, To know the Sun and feel the rain, To meet again, The brethren of the Celtic Ray, To come together come what may, And never lose our will to be, Nor the hope that comes through thee, Through the Earth and through the trees, Through the balmy air of a summer breeze, That comes to you in the Sun that ripens the corn, And harvests the crop of this ray, And takes you to the ancient way, So we can dance anew like blossoms in the month of May.