If you ever go across the sea to Ireland,
Then maybe at the closing of your day,
You will sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh
And see the sun go down on Galway Bay.
Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream,
The women in the meadows making hay
And to sit beside a turf fire in a cabin
And watch the barefoot gosoons at their play.
For the breezes blowing o'er the sea to Ireland, are perfumed by the heather as they blow.
And the women in the uplands digging praties
Speak a language that the strangers do no know.
For the strangers came and tried to teach us their ways,
And scorned us just for being what we are
But they might as well be chasing after moonbeams
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Or light a penny candle from a star
And if there's going to be a life hereafter,
And somehow I am sure there's going to be,
I will ask my God to let me make my heaven
In that dear land across the Irish Sea.
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, EMI Music Publishing
Song writers: GRAFF, GEORGE / BALL, ERNEST R. / OLCOTT, CHAUNCEY