Flow, Foyle, full of tears, not water, on to the main,
Past the wreck of the Boom, past Culmore, past MacGilligan,
Take to the ocean, wind-swept and wave-tossed,
Our story of pain.
Close gates, so heavy and ancient, brave Prentice boys,
Shut out the sea, shut off England, shut out the Union.
Shut out all links with our Empire, our trade and communion,
Our hopes and our joys!
Blow, black from the North, cold wind from Malin Head!
Take to our comrades in Leinster, in Connacht, in Munster,
The tale of our struggle, our work, our disaster
Our honour is dead.
January 31, 1913.