'Twas down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I When Ireland's lines of marching men In squadrons passed me by No pipe did hum and no battle drum Was sounded straight and true But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell Rang out in the foggy dew
Right proudly high over Dublin town They hung out the flag of war 'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky Than at Suvla or Sud-el-bar And from the plains of Royal Meath Strong men came hurrying by While Britannia's sons with their long-range guns Sailed in from the foggy dew
'Twas England bade our wild geese go That small nations might be free Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves Or the fringe of the great North Sea But had they died by Pearse's side Or fought with Cathal Brugha Their graves we'd would keep where the Fenians sleep 'Neath the hills of the foggy dew
The bravest fell, and the solemn bell Rang mournfully and clear For those who died that Easter tide In the springing of the year And the world did gaze in deep amaze At those fearless men and true Who bore the fight that freedom's light Might shine through the foggy dew