(At Ladysmith.)
The Cross swings low the, morn is near—
Now, comrades, fill up high;
The cannon’s voice will ring out clear
When morning lights the sky.
A toast we’ll drink together, boys,
Ere dawns the battle’s grey,
A toast to Ireland—dear old Ireland!—
Ireland far away!
Ireland far away! Ireland far away!
Health to Ireland—strength to Ireland!
Ireland, boys, hurrah!
Who told us that her cause was dead?
Who bade us bend the knee?
The slaves! Again she lifts her head—
Again she dare be free!
With gun in hand we take our stand!
For Ireland in the fray—
We fight for Ireland—dear old Ireland!
Ireland far away!
Ireland far away! Ireland far away!
We fight for Ireland—die for Ireland—
Ireland, boys, hurrah!
O Mother of the Wounded Breast!
O Mother of the Tears!
The sons you loved and trusted best
Have grasped their battle-spears.
From Shannon, Lagan, Liffey, Lee
On Afric’s soil to-day—
We strike for Ireland—brave old Ireland!—
Ireland far away!
Ireland far away! Ireland far away!
We smite for Ireland—brave old Ireland!—
Ireland, boys, hurrah!
The morning breaks—the bugle calls!
Now, comrades, for the fight!
A hero’s grave be his who falls
Ere comes again the night.
For freedom’s flag—for Ireland’s cause—
Strike stout and swift to-day!
Hurrah for Ireland!—brave old Ireland!
Ireland far away!
Ireland far away! Ireland far away!
God guard old Ireland!—dear old Ireland!
Ireland, boys, hurrah!
CUGUAN.