Alone with none but Thee, my God,
I journey on my way;
Oh King of night and day?
More safe am I within Thy hand
Than if a host did round me stand.


Delightful to be on the Hill of Howth
Before going over the white-haired sea:
The dashing of the wave against its face,
The bareness of its shores and of its border....
Great is the speed of my coracle,
And its stern turned upon Derry:
Grievous is my errand over the main,
Travelling to Alba of the beetling brows....


Horror of night when none can work,
Wailing of men and flooding tears,
Opening the books by conscience write,
Rising of hearts with guilty tears

Kings early glory fleeteth fast,
And for a moment is its stay,
God hath all might, and at a nod,
The giants fall beneath his sway.

Mark the power of God supreme,
Hath held aloft earth's giant ball,
And fixed the encircling deep,
His mighty hand supporting all.


There is a grey eye
That will look back upon Erin:
Which shall never see again
The men of Erin nor her women.

I stretch my glance across the brine
From the firm oaken planks;
Many are the tears of my bright soft grey eye
As I look back upon Erin.

My mind is upon Erin,
Upon Loch Lene, upon Linny,
Upon the land where Ulstermen are,
Upon gentle Munster and upon Meath.

Carry my blessing with thee to the West,
My heart is broken in my breast:
Should sudden death overtake me,
It is for my great love of the Gael.

Were all Alba mine
From its centre to its border,
I would rather have the site of a house
In the middle of fair Derry.