To Ireland
Oh Ireland, the Ireland, across shallow sea,
Thy bitterness, sorrow and thy thorny woe,
Blows just like the wind all the tales into me.
The feeling of sadness, the tears in me grow,
When I hear of famine, when I hear of war,
For every of devils has once been your foe.
The grass is the greenest behind Irish shore,
For Irish do water so heavily it,
For Irish do water with tears from thy sore.
Oh god I thank thee and all praise I admit,
For giving the Irish their water of life,
For nothing fit sorrow, like whiskey befit.
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