BY J. J. HONAN.
What is more dear to the Irishman's heart
In his travels where'er he may go thro' the world,
Than that little plant, the green shamrock of Erin,
Emblazoned with gold on the sunburst unfurl'd?
And here in this country, the nation of nations,
Where freedom for all is a God-given right,
Can he on this day of St. Patrick behold it,
His emblem of Faith and true Beacon of Light.
Then here's to the shamrock of downtrodden Ireland,
That dear little island so leal and so kind,
Beloved by its children, their mother and sireland,
The more every year since they left it behind.
How dearly they loved on each bright Patrick's morning
To rise with the lark in that sweet, balmy air,
And pluck up the shamrocks that e'er are adorning
The hills and the vales of that island so fair.
Ah! sad are the hours while in silence they ponder,
Recalling those days of the past years ago,
In that dear little isle of St. Patrick the Father
Of all that is holy and good where they grow.
Then here's to St. Patrick and his little shamrock,
That blest little shamrock afar o'er the sea,
And may we soon see the dear land that it grows on,
Again as it has been, great, glorious and free.
So here's to the shamrock of Ireland,
That dear little emblem of Ireland,
With bright leaves of green,
That shall ever be seen,
'Mongst the hills and the valleys of Ireland.
Troy Times. March 17, 1920: 7 col 3.