Far away from the home and the friends they love best,
’Mid murd’rers and felons all silent they rest;
Not a cross, not a stone, marks the desolate spot
Where the bones of our martyred ones crumble and rot!
In the cold prison ground, sad and lone, side by side,
With their faces to Ireland, they sleep as they died;
And the Angel of Liberty, hovering near,
On the consecrate grave drops a pitying tear!
Surrounded by foemen, ’mid jeering and hate,
True as steel to the last, they went forth to their fate,
With a prayer for thy cause on the high gallows-tree—
Dear home of our fathers! they perished for thee!
When they took them away from that desolate place,
They found death had left a bright smile on each face,
So they buried them quickly, lest true men should see
How the hosts of the tyrant were baffled by Three!
For still are they free, as no tyrant can bind
The proud, chainless soul or the fetterless mind;
And though the cold limbs may be laid in the grave,
Soul and mind are enshrined in the hearts of the brave!
Long, long may our land guard and treasure each name,
Till a nation made free hymns their glorious fame;
And our grandsons shall tell that from yonder cold grave
Sprang the spirit yet destined our nation to save!