He Never Deserted a Friend.
Copyright, 1889, by Harding Brothers.
Words and Music by J. F. Mitchell.
Tis an Irishman's glory, an Irishman's pride,
That thro' ages of sorrow and strife
He has never deserted the love of his land,
But loved it far better than life.
His thoughts are in Erin, that speck on the wave,
Altho' in a far foreign clime;
And tho' 'tis but nature to think of his own,
Yet some there are call it crime.
He never deserted a friend,
Nor turned his back on a foe,
You'll find him the same, light-hearted And free,
Wherever you may go.
Eviction has scattered his race
In every land upon earth;
You may rob him of home, of all that is dear,
But he still loves the land of his birth.
Can you see either honor or justice in laws
Which take a man's birthright away?
For the Irishman tights other's battles abroad.
He gets nothing but sneers for his pay.
There is not a spot in the civilized world
That the Irishman cannot be seen;
And no law ever passed can ever make him forget
His own little island of green.-Chorus.
Thank heaven, when enemies have done him their worst,
And forced him over the foam,
'Neath the sheltering folds of the stars and stripes
He always is sure of a home.
Where the grip of the landlord no more can be felt,
Where no longer eviction can he,
For the moment he stands on American soil,
"Thank God, " he can say, "I am free! " -Chorus.
In America, land of the brave and the free,
Whose flag is the terror of foes;
The Irishman meets with both friends and respect,
And his mind is at rest and repose.
Sure the day can't be distant when Ireland is loosed
From the hull-dog that grips at her throat;
When her old flag of green, with the sunburst and harp,
From every hill side shall float.-Chorus