Father in Exile (James Connolly) 'Tis Christmas Day in Ireland And I'm sitting here alone Three thousand miles of ocean intervene And the faces of my loved ones In my little Irish home Come glancing in and out my thoughts between O, to catch the loving kisses From my little children flung To feel the warm embrace when wife And husband meet To hear the boisterous greeting in The kindly Dublin tongue That makes brightness of the dullness Of our murky Dublin streets. 'Tis Christmas day in Ireland And I my lot bewailing Am fretting in this Western land so cold Where the throbbings of the human heart Are weak and unavailing And human souls are reckoned less than gold O the headache and the heartache And the ashes at the feast Attend us every hour of our sojourn In this land Till the heart-sick Irish exile turns His face towards the East To that land where love and poverty Can wander hand in hand. 'Tis Christmas day in Ireland And ringing over yonder Are Dublin streets with Irish love of life And I'm here in exile moping In spirit yearning wander To that Irish land to meet my Irish wife O the lovings and the strivings and the Griefs we share in common And the babes that came to bless us As sweet buds upon a tree O curses on the cruel fate that sent A father roaming And blessings still this Christmastide My Irish home on thee. [Written in the U.S., Christmas, 1903.] XX July01
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