The Call Of Erin / September 1913 / The Musical Priest

What need you be in competent sense
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the half-pence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer until
You've dried the marrow from the bone
For men were born to pray and save
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone
'Tis with O'Leary, in the grave
Yet they were of a different kind
In aims that stilled your childish play
Have gone about the warlike wined
What little time they had to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun
For what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone
'Tis with O'Leary, in the grave
Was it for this, the wild geese spread
Their gray ring upon every tide?
For this, that all the blood was shed?
For this, Edward FitzGerald died
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone
Or that delirium of the brave
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone
'Tis with O'Leary, in the grave
Yet would be told thy years again
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain
You'd cry some woman's yellow hair
Had maddened every woman's song
They weighed so lightly what they gave
But let them be, they're dead and gone
They're with O'Leary, in the grave

She is calling, calling calling
In the wind and o'er the tide
We are children, hear our voices
Call us ever to her side
She is calling, calling, calling
In the storm and in the gaol
We are children, hear our voices
As we homeward safely sail

With the engine need is throbbing
And the wind upon the stern
Little rightly of the distance
That divides us now from Erin
Go, we hear our voices calling
Sweeping past us on the west
Calling home to her dear children
She once nourished on her breast

She is calling, calling calling
In the wind and o'er the tide
We are children, hear our voices
Call us ever to her side
She is calling, calling, calling
In the storm and in the gaol
We are children, hear our voices
As we homeward safely sail

Oh, ye waters bear us homeward
And ye winds your task will fill
Till our Irish eyes will feast on
Irish veils and Irish hills
Till we tread our Irish cities
See the glory and the shame
And our eyes, like skies of Erin
Through our smiles shed tears of pain

She is calling, calling calling
In the wind and o'er the tide
We are children, hear our voices
Call us ever to her side
She is calling, calling, calling
In the storm and in the gaol
We are children, hear our voices
As we homeward safely sail

Glorious is the land we're leaving
And its pride shall go to nears
And the land that calls us homeward
But can share with us her tears
Yet our heart will call in vain
Needless doth the wealth-man crave
Turn it home to share her soul
Where she weeps is I will rave

She is calling, calling calling
In the wind and o'er the tide
We are children, hear our voices
Call us ever to her side
She is calling, calling, calling
In the storm and in the gaol
We are children, hear our voices
As we homeward safely sail