An old man weeps
And a young man sorrows
While a child is busy with his gladness.
The old shall cheer
And the young shall battle,--
The child shall tremble for their gladness.

O Victory
How fair thou comest,
Young though the ages are thy raiment!
Thy song of death
How sweet thou singest,
Coming in that splendour of thy raiment!

All flaming thou
In grandeur of the Fianna
Or crowned with the memory of Tara!
In the fame of Kings,
In the might of chieftains,
Bound in the memory of Tara!

Sweet little child
To thee the victory--
Thou shalt be now as the Fianna!
For thee the feast,
For thee the lime-white mansions,
And the hounds on the hills of Fianna!