Arm of Erin, prove strong, but be gentle as brave, And, uplifted to strike, still be ready to save; Not one feeling of vengeance presume to defile The cause or the men of the Emerald Isle.

When Erin first rose from the dark-swelling flood, God blessed the green island, he saw it was good. The Emerald of Europe, it sparkled and shone In the ring of this world, the most precious stone.

We . . . are no petty people. We are one of the great stocks of Burke; we are the people of Swift, the people of Emmet, the people of Parnell. We have created most of the modern literature of this country. We have created the best of its political intelligence.

Out of Ireland have we come.
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother's womb
A fanatic heart.

If one could only teach the English how to talk, and the Irish how to listen, society would be quite civilized.

Whether on the scaffold high Or on the battle-field we die, Oh, what matter, when for Erin dear we fall.