Proud Irish in America

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The three sharpest things in the world: a thorn in the mud, a hemp rope, a fool's word.

This is our fate: eight hundred years' disaster, crazily tangled like the Book of Kells: the dream's distortion and the land's division, the midnight raiders and the prison cells.

May the blessings of light be upon you, Light without and light within. And in all your comings and goings, May you ever have a kindly greeting From them you meet along the road.

Here's to a fellow who smiles When life runs along like a song. And here's to the lad who can smile When everything goes dead wrong.

May the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty!

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[ Proud Irish in America ].

May the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty.

May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face. And rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

Everyone is wise till he speaks.

Ireland, it's the one place on earth That heaven has kissed With melody, mirth, And meadow and mist.

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