THE IRISH SHORE.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 96, 27 February 1875, Page 11

THE IRISH SHORE.

" 'Tis rain to hope, 'tis vain to dream, Your land can never rise : With hate her children, rend her heart. While low in dust she lies j Forget her wrongs." So says the world Ab many did before, But, oh j how can we e'er forget Our dear old Irish shore ? Can we forget the glorious host Who scorned as slaves to live, Who gave their lives to native land — What more could mortal give ? Or cease to venerate the soil Made holy by their gore ? Our hearts were clods, could we forget Our dear old Irish shore. When we forget to ope our eyes To meet the smile of day, Forget to weep when those most dear Are shrouded in the clay. Forget to look with love and trußt To Him we now adore, We may forget, but not till then, Our dear old Irish shore. 'Tis vain to dream, but not to toil, O land we love, for thee, While hope remains and memory last Our dearest wish must be For thee to labour, plan, and pray And sleep when life is o'er Beneath the sod that wraps thy breast Our green old Irish shore.