To God and Ireland true

by
Ellen O’Leary (1831–89)


I SIT beside my darling’s grave,

Who in the prison died,

And though my tears fall thick and fast

I think of him with pride:

Ay, softly fall my tears like dew,

For one to God and Ireland true.


“I love my God o’er all,” he said,

“And then I love my land,

And next I love my Lily sweet,

Who pledged me her white hand:

To each—to all—I ’m ever true,

To God, to Ireland, and to you.”


No tender nurse his hard bed smooth’d

Or softly rais’d his head;

He fell asleep and woke in heaven

Ere I knew he was dead;

Yet why should I my darling rue?

He was to God and Ireland true.


Oh, ’t is a glorious memory!

I ’m prouder than a queen,

To sit beside my hero’s grave

And think on what has been;

And, O my darling, I am true

To God—to Ireland—and to you!