Like the bright lamp that lay on Kildare's holly fane,
And burn'd thro'long ages of darkness and storm,
Is the heart that sorrows have frow'd on in vain,
Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm.
Erin, O Erin, thus bright thro'the tears
Of a long night of bondage thy spirit appears.

The nations have fallen, and thou still art young,
Thy sun is but rising, when others are set;
And tho' slav'ry's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung,
The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee yet.
Erin, O Erin, tho'long in the shade,
Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade.

Unchill'd by the rain, and unwak'd by the wind,
The lily lies sleeping thro' winter's cold hour,
Till the hand of Spring her dark chain unbind,
And daylight and liberty bless the young flow'r.
Erin, O Erin, thy winter is past,
And the hope that liv'd thro'it shall blossom at last.