The Hail Of The Friendly Sons

Shall we who meet and part to-night
Remember not our sires?
Shall we forget their age-long fight,
Their quenchless battle-fires?
They handed us the freedom-flame
That spreads from sea to sea.
They bade it burn in Ireland s name,
Till land and race are free.
And we feel the thrill of their mighty hail.
It comes with the boom of guns,
A heart and a hand for our fair land,
The hail of the Friendly Sons.
The hail of the Friendly Sons!
Through the whole wide world it runs
A tide from the shores of Innisfail,
The love that lives in the soul of the Gael,--
The hail of the Friendly Sons!
Howe'er the ways of love or war
May claim our hand or brain,
Where'er the wanderer's lonely star
May steer us o'er the main,
Howe'er it chance by flood or field
That there is aught to dare,
Whate'er of joy our fates may yield,
Whatever pangs we bear,
Still we feel the thrill of that mighty hail,
It comes with the boom of guns,
A heart and a hand for our fair land,
The hail of the Friendly Sons.
No voice compels like mother's voice
When calling to her own,
No song makes heart of man rejoice
Like Love's pure silver tone,
And Ireland, mother, lover dear,
Our fathers died for you:
They kept their faith of freedom clear,
And so shall we be true.
For we feel the thrill of their mighty hail.
It comes with the boom of guns,
A heart and a hand for our fair land,
The hail of the Friendly Sons.