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428 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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No more St. Patrick's Day we'll keep, his color can't
be seen, For there's a cruel law agin the wearin' o' the green !
I met wid Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand, And he said, "How's poor Ould Ireland, and how
does she stand?" She's the most disthressful country that iver yet was
seen, For they're hangin' men and women there for wearin'
o* the green.
An' if the color we must wear is England's cruel red, Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed; Then pull the shamrock from your hat, and throw it
on the sod,— And never fear, 'twill take root there, tho' under foot
'tis trod !
When law can stop the blades of grass from growin'
as they grow, And when the leaves in summer-time their color dare
not show, Then I will change the color, too, I wear in my
caubeen, But till that day, plaze God, I'll stick to wearin' o'
the green. |
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