Oh, Erin, ghrá mo chroí You're the dear old land to me You're the fairest that my eyes did e'er behold You're the land St. Patrick blessed You're the bright star of the west You're that dear little isle, so far away At the setting of the Sun, when my long day's work was done I rambled-down the seashore for a walk And I, being all alone, I sat-down upon a stone For to gaze upon the scenes of New York Oh, Erin, ghrá mo chroí, you're the dear old land to me You're the fairest that my eyes have ever seen And if ever I go home, it's from you I never will roam You're my own native land, so far away With the turf fire burning bright on a cold, dark winter's night And the snowflakes falling gently to the ground When St. Patrick's Day has come, my thoughts will carry me home To that dear little isle, so far away Oh, and Erin, grá mo chroí, you're the dear old land to me You're the fairest that my eyes have ever seen You're the land St. Patrick blessed, you're the bright star of the west You're that dear little isle, so far away On the day that I did part, well, it broke my mother's heart Will I ever see my dear ones anymore? Not until my bones are laid in my cold and silent grave In my own native land, so far away Oh, Erin, grá mo chroí, you're the dear old land to me You're the fairest that my eyes have ever seen And if ever I go home, it's from you I never will roam You're my own native land, so far away You're my own native land, so far away