THREE GRAINS OF CORN
Give me three grains of corn, Mother,
Only three grains of corn.
'Twill keep what little life I have
Till the coming of the morn.
For I'm dying of hunger and cold, Mother,
Dying of hunger and cold,
And the agony of such a death
My lips have never told.
Oh, what has old Ireland done, Mother,
Oh, what has old Ireland done,
That the world looks on and sees them starve,
Perishing one by one?
There is many a brave heart, Mother,
That is dying of hunger and cold,
While only across the channel, Mother,
Thousands are rolling their gold.
Oh, how can I look to you, Mother,
Oh, how can I look to you
For bread to feed your starving child
When you are starving too?
I dreamed of bread in my sleep, Mother,
The sight was heaven to see!
I awoke with an eager and famishing lip
And you had no bread for me.