God of this Irish isle !
Blessed and old,
Wrapp'd in the morning's smile
In the sea's fold
Here, where Thy saints have trod
Here, where they pray'd
Hear me, O saving God !
May I be saved ?

God of the circling sea !
Far-rolling and deep
Its caves are unshut to Thee,
Its bounds Thou dost keep
Here, from this strand,
Whence saints have gone forth
Father ! I own Thy hand,
Humbled to earth.

God of this blessed light
Over me shining !
On the wide way of right
I go, unrepining.
No more despising
My lot or my race,
But toiling, uprising,
To Thee through Thy grace.