Olittle plant, so meek and slight, Tinct with the emerald of the sea
Which like a mother, day and night, Croons melodies to thee;
Emblem of Erin's hope and pride!
Though crushed and trampled under foot, Thou still art found The meadows 'round,
Up-springing from thine own sweet root!
Of sorrow thou hast been the sign Through weary, unforgiving years; The dews upon thy tender vine Have seemed thy country's tears;
Now, now forevermore, thou art Symbol of all that's brave and true— Blest as a smile Of thy sunlit isle,
In the Old World honored, and the New!
For they lie asleep in a land of strangers, Far from the home their fame endears—
The Inniskillings, the Connaught Rangers, The Dublin Fusiliers;
And the little plant they loved so well— Better than fairest flower that blows— Is set apart In Britannia's heart
With the Scottish thistle and the rose:
Is set apart, and never again Shall human eyes the shamrock see
Without a thought of the heroes slain Whose splendid loyalty,
Stronger than ancient hate or wrong,
Sublimed them 'midst the battle's hell,— A tidal wave From the souls of the brave,
That made them deathless as they fell!