Who fears to speak of Easter Week?
Who dares its fate deplore?
The red gold flame of Eire's name
Confronts the world once more
Oh Irishmen, remember then,
And raise your heads with pride,
For great men and straight men
Have fought for you and died.
The spirit wave that came to save
The peerless Celtic soul,
From earthly stain of greed and gain
Had caught them in its roll;
Had swept them high to do or die,
To sound a trumpet call;
For true men though few men
To follow one and all.
Upon their shield a stainless field,
With virtues blazoned bright;
With Temperance and Purity
And Truth and Honour dight
So now they stand at God's Right Hand,
Who framed their dauntless clay,
Who taught them and brought them
The glory of today.
The storied page of this our age
Will save our land from shame
The ancient foe had boasted - ho!
That Irishmen were tame
They bought their souls for paltry doles,
And told the world of slaves
That lie men! shall die, men!
In Pearse and Plunkett's graves.
The brave who've gone to linger on
Beneath the tyrant's heel
We know they pray another day
With clash of clanging steel
Now from their cell their voices swell,
And loudly call on you
Then ask, men! the task, men!
That yet remains to do.
Who dares its fate deplore?
The red gold flame of Eire's name
Confronts the world once more
Oh Irishmen, remember then,
And raise your heads with pride,
For great men and straight men
Have fought for you and died.
The spirit wave that came to save
The peerless Celtic soul,
From earthly stain of greed and gain
Had caught them in its roll;
Had swept them high to do or die,
To sound a trumpet call;
For true men though few men
To follow one and all.
Upon their shield a stainless field,
With virtues blazoned bright;
With Temperance and Purity
And Truth and Honour dight
So now they stand at God's Right Hand,
Who framed their dauntless clay,
Who taught them and brought them
The glory of today.
The storied page of this our age
Will save our land from shame
The ancient foe had boasted - ho!
That Irishmen were tame
They bought their souls for paltry doles,
And told the world of slaves
That lie men! shall die, men!
In Pearse and Plunkett's graves.
The brave who've gone to linger on
Beneath the tyrant's heel
We know they pray another day
With clash of clanging steel
Now from their cell their voices swell,
And loudly call on you
Then ask, men! the task, men!
That yet remains to do.
envoyé par Dq82 - 26/4/2022 - 18:42
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