Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition

Irish National Hymn (Author: James Clarence Mangan)

p.105

1. O Ireland! Ancient Ireland!
   Ancient! yet for ever young!
   Thou our mother, home and sire-land—
   Thou at length hast found a tongue—
   Proudly thou, at length,
   Resistest in triumphant strength.
   Thy flag of freedom floats unfurled;
   And as that mighty God existeth,
   Who giveth victory when and where He listeth,
   Thou yet shalt wake and shake the nations of the world.

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   p.106

   For this dull world still slumbers,
   Weetless of its wants or loves,
   Though, like Galileo, numbers
   Cry aloud, 'It moves! it moves!'
   In a midnight dream,
   Drifts it down Time's wreckful stream—
   All march, but few descry the goal.
   O Ireland! be it thy high duty
   To teach the world the might of Moral Beauty,
   And stamp God's image truly on the struggling soul.
   Strong in thy self-reliance,
   Not in idle threat or boast,
   Hast thou hurled thy fierce defiance
   At the haughty Saxon host,
   Thou hast claimed, in sight
   Of high Heaven, thy long-lost right.
   Upon thy hills—along thy plains—
   In the green bosom of thy valleys,
   The new-born soul of holy freedom rallies,
   And calls on thee to trample down in dust thy chains!
2. Deep, saith the Eastern story,
   Burns in Iran's mines a gem,
   For its dazzling hues and glory
   Worth a Sultan's diadem.
   But from human eyes,
   Hidden there it ever lies!
   The aye-travailing Gnomes alone,
   Who toil to form the mountain's treasure,
   May gaze and gloat with pleasure, without measure,
   Upon the lustrous beauty of that wonder-stone.
   So is it with a nation,
   Which would win for its rich dower
   That bright pearl, Self-liberation—
   It must labour hour by hour.

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   p.107

   Strangers who travail
   To lay bare the gem, shall fail;
   Within itself must grow, must glow—
   Within the depth of its own bosom,
   Must flower in loving might, must broadly blossom,
   The hopes that shall be born ere Freedom's Tree can blow
   Go on, then, all rejoiceful!
   March on thy career unbowed!
   Ireland! let thy noble, voiceful
   Spirit cry to God aloud!
   Man will bid thee speed—
   God will aid thee in thy need—
   The Time, the Hour, the Power are near—
   Be sure thou soon shalt form the vanguard
   Of that illustrious band, whom Heaven and Man guard:
   And these words come from one whom some have called a Seer.