Maxioms by John Locke
Th' an'am an Dhia, but there it is--
The dawn on the hills of Ireland.
God's angels read more
Th' an'am an Dhia, but there it is--
The dawn on the hills of Ireland.
God's angels lifting the night's black veil
From the fair sweet face of my sireland!
O Ireland, isn't it grand, you look
Like a bride in her rich adornin',
And with all the pent up love of my heart
I bid you the top of the morning.
It is vain to find fault with those arts of deceiving, wherein
men find pleasure to be deceived.
It is vain to find fault with those arts of deceiving, wherein
men find pleasure to be deceived.
