Erin Grá Mo Chroí

Oh, Erin, ghrá mo chroí
You're the dear old land to me
You're the fairest that my eyes did e'er behold
You're the land St. Patrick blessed
You're the bright star of the west
You're that dear little isle, so far away

At the setting of the Sun, when my long day's work was done
I rambled-down the seashore for a walk
And I, being all alone, I sat-down upon a stone
For to gaze upon the scenes of New York

Oh, Erin, ghrá mo chroí, you're the dear old land to me
You're the fairest that my eyes have ever seen
And if ever I go home, it's from you I never will roam
You're my own native land, so far away

With the turf fire burning bright on a cold, dark winter's night
And the snowflakes falling gently to the ground
When St. Patrick's Day has come, my thoughts will carry me home
To that dear little isle, so far away

Oh, and Erin, grá mo chroí, you're the dear old land to me
You're the fairest that my eyes have ever seen
You're the land St. Patrick blessed, you're the bright star of the west
You're that dear little isle, so far away

On the day that I did part, well, it broke my mother's heart
Will I ever see my dear ones anymore?
Not until my bones are laid in my cold and silent grave
In my own native land, so far away

Oh, Erin, grá mo chroí, you're the dear old land to me
You're the fairest that my eyes have ever seen
And if ever I go home, it's from you I never will roam
You're my own native land, so far away

You're my own native land, so far away