A Sword of Light hath pierced the dark, our eyes have seen the Star:
Oh Eire, leave the ways of sleep now days of promise are:
The rusty spears upon your walls are stirring to and fro,
In dreams they front uplifted shields–Then wake,
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

The little waves creep whispering where sedges fold you in,
And round you are the barrows of your buried kith and kin;
Oh! famine-wasted, fever-burnt, they faded like the snow
Or set their hearts to meet the steel–for you,
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

Their names are blest, their caoine sung; our bitter tears are dried;
We bury Sorrow in their graves, Patience we cast aside;
Within the gloom we hear a voice that once was ours to know–
'Tis Freedom–Freedom calling loud; Arise!
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

Afar beyond that empty sea, on many a battle-place,
Your sons have stretched brave hands to Death before the foeman's face–
Down the sad silence of your rest their war-notes faintly blow,
And bear an echo of your name–of yours,
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

Then wake, a grádh! We yet shall win a gold crown for your head,
Strong wine to make a royal feast–the white wine and the red–
And in your oaken mether the yellow mead shall flow
What day you rise, in all men's eyes–a Queen,
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

The silver speech our fathers knew shall once again be heard;
The fire-lit story, crooning song, sweeter than lilt of bird;
Your quicken-tree shall break in flower, its ruddy fruit shall glow,
And the Gentle People dance beneath its shade–
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!

There shall be peace and plenty–the kindly open door;
Blessings on all who come and go–the prosperous or the poor–
The misty glens and purple hills a fairer tint shall show,
When your splendid Sun shall ride the skies again–
Mo Chraoibhin Cno!