I was down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I There armed lines of marching men In squadrons passed me by No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its loud tattoo But the Angelus Bells o'er the Liffey swells rang out in the foggy dew
Right proudly high in Dublin town Hung they out a flag of war 'Twas better to die 'neath that Irish sky Than at Sulva or Sud el Bar And from the plains of Royal Meath Strong men came hurrying through While Britannia's huns with their long range guns Sailed in through the foggy dew
*sprints through with the tri-color* ---
The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.