Do you ever hear the blackbird in the thorn,
Or the skylark rising warbling in the morn,
With the white mists o'er the meadows,
Or the cattle in the shadows
Of the willows by the borders of a stream?
Do you ever see old Ireland in a dream?
Ah! many, many a time, many a time!

 ... 

'Tis not written that the Irish race forget, 
Though the tossing seas between them roll and fret,
Yea, the children of the Gael
Turn to far-off Innisfail
And remember her, and hope for her, and pray
That her long, long night may blossom into day,
Ah! many, many a time, many a time!

Did your mother by your cradle ever croon
For lullaby some sweet old Irish tune? 
Did an Irish love-song's art
Ever steal into your heart,
Or Irish war-chant make your pulses thrill? 
Do haunting harps yet sound from Tara's hill? 
Ah! many, many a time, many a time!

 ...