The Patriot Maid An Irish girl in heart and soul, I love the dear old land. I honour those who, in her cause, Lift voice or pen or hand. And may I live to see her free From foreign lord and knave. But God forbid I'll ever be The mother of a slave. God bless the men who took their stand In Ireland's patriot host. I'd give the youth my heart and hand Who serves his country most, And if he fell I'd rather lie Beside him in the grave Than wed a wealthy loon and be The mother of a slave. Some on the scaffold place of doom For loving Ireland died. Still other through the dungeon's gloom Are torn from our side. God bless the men who for her sake Their lives and genius gave. God bless the mothers of those sons! You nursed no cursed slave. Through many a blood-red age of woe Our nation's heart has bled. But yet she makes her tyrants know Her spirit is not dead. And God the just, who ne'er designed His image for a slave, Will give our country might and mind And raise her true and brave. MM oct99
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!