Then maybe at the closing of your day

You will sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh

And see the sun go down on Galway Bay.



Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream

The women in the meadows making hay

Or to sit beside a turf fire in the cabin

And watch the barefoot gossoons at their play.



For the breezes blowing o'er the seas from Ireland

Are perfum'd by the heather as they blow

And the women in the uplands diggin' praties

Speak a language that the strangers do not know.



Oh,  the strangers came and tried to teach their way

They scorn'd us just for being what we are

But they might as well go chasing after moon beams

Or light a penny candle from a star.



And if there's going to be a life hereafter

That somehow I feel sure there's going to be

I will ask my God to let me make my heaven

In that dear land across the Irish sea.



I will ask my God to let me make my heaven

In that dear land across the Irish sea...