He made all countries where he came his own.

He made all countries where he came his own.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my read more

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!

Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!

Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!

The infant, on opening his eyes, ought to see his country, and to
the hour of his death never read more

The infant, on opening his eyes, ought to see his country, and to
the hour of his death never lose sight of it.
[Fr., Un enfant en ouvrant ses yeux doit voir la patrie, et
jusqu'a la mort ne voir qu'elle.]

There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and read more

There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;
For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing.
To wander along by the wind-beaten hill.
But the day star attracted his eyes' sad devotion,
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion
He sang the bold anthem of Erin-go-bragh.

And nobler is a limited command,
Given by the love of all your native land,
Than a read more

And nobler is a limited command,
Given by the love of all your native land,
Than a successive title, long and dark,
Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's Ark.

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our read more

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee,--are all with thee!

They love their land, because it is their own,
And scorn to give aught other reason why;
read more

They love their land, because it is their own,
And scorn to give aught other reason why;
Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
And think it kindness to his majesty.

My dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent,
Long may thy read more

My dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent,
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!