'Tis Summer in Glengormley,
And the mountain gorse aglow
Sends shafts of gold adown the slopes
Where we were wont to go;
The thrushes pipe as sweet, as clear,
The streamlet sings all day
By daisied grass and heather-bells–
But you are far away!

Her star had dawned for our sad land,
Her rallying-call had pealed
Loud from the city's market-place
Over each sun-kissed field;
And the loving heart that beat for me,
Was to the Mother true;
So forth you fared to take your place
Among the dauntless few.

Though prison walls should sunder
Our hands, that clasped, a stór,
Though lonely years should weigh me down,
And you come back no more;
Though our bright dreams be unfulfilled,
No shameful tears shall rise
To mar the memory of the smile
That lit my love's brave eyes.

I'd rather see you cold, love,
Beneath the shamrock screen,
Than know you traitor to your God,
And traitor to the Green!
I'd rather see your dear, fair head
On spear-point of the foe,
Than know when Ireland needed you
You never struck a blow!

She's worth all bitter pangs endured
For her sweet, holy sake,
By manly hearts that meet the steel,
And women's hearts that break;
Should weaker souls grow faint and cold,
Oh, never, love, forget
The land your father died to save
Is yours to die for yet.

But God may hear my pleading prayer,
And, haply, His decree
May bring you safe ere Summer wanes
To home, and love, and me;
My pride to know you never quailed!
My joy to kiss each scar
For Ireland borne, with Ireland's sons,
On battle-fields afar.

And the thrushes in Glengormley
Shall trill a song of hope,
The streamlet rush to welcome you
Adown the heathery slope,
The sad soul of the Motherland
Arise, erect and free,
When you come back, oh, true and brave,
To my glad heart and me!