Is the tree living I once thought dead?
Mo chraoibhin aoibhinn O,
It were a pity had its green life fled
So lovely are its branches in their spread,
And singing leaves telling of days long fled
When soft winds blow.
Have we forgotten how its life to save?
Mo chraoibhin aoibhinn O,
Have ye forgotten, O young men and brave?
Deep must the digging be as one long grave;
And blood and sweat its tender roots must lave,
And salt tears flow,
That it may live, the tree I mourned as dead,
O little branch so frail,
By crowding brothers nigh its life was sped;
But it shall raise once more its glorious head
So you may dream 'neath its exquisite shade,
O Grannia Wael.