AIR,—‘S. Patrick’s Day.‘
James Gates Percival
From The Life and Letters of James Gates Percival by J. H. Ward, pp. 447-448
Hail to the morning, when first he ascended,
The Jewel of Erin, the Saint and the Sage,—
O, long may the rays of his glory be blended,
In harmony clear, on the poet’s page.
Long may the sainted Patrick bless us,
Long as the flowers of Erin smile.
True-hearted Irishmen ever shall follow him,—
Ever pure prayers from warm bosoms shall hallow him,—
Praises resound through each consecrate pile;
And O, may his spirit awake to redress us,
And rescue from tyrants our sacred isle.
Hark to the voice, that through Connaught resounded,
Aloft from her mountain so high and so green!
It spake,—through that gem, by the bright ocean bounded,
No venomous creature again was seen.
Roses and shamrocks filled each valley,
Green waved the oak above each hill:
Health, in each eye, sparkled clear as the fountain;
Pure was each kiss, as the dew of the mountain;
Swelled every bosom with joy, to its fill,—
But O, he forgot, with his trusty shillelagh,
To crush that foul hydra, the worm of the still.
Hark to the voice, that, through Erin resounding,
Awakens the spirits of freemen again!
It calls, and the hearts of old Ireland are bounding,—
As they beat, snap the steel links of slavery’s chain!
Millions there wake to pride and glory,—
Think of their sires, the strong and free!
Millions, too, warm with a patriot’s devotion,
Send their fond wishes across the wide ocean,
Erin! O beautiful Erin! to thee;
For O, thou art rescued, and ever in story,
Thy Patrick and Matthew united shall be.