Bear it up, bear it up, through the clouds of the battle,
On, on, through the smoke and the glare;
Though in hail-storms the balls from yon black ramparts rattle,
We will plant it triumphantly there.
Though now, by the eddying war-dust beclouded,
’Twas lost at the base of the hill,
See again, on its summit, in flame-wreaths enshrouded,
Our flag waves triumphantly still!
We have marched ’neath its folds over meadow and mountain,
In sunshine and shower, side by side;
To guard it we opened our hearts’ living fountain,
Till it flowed in a hot crimson tide;
And guard it we will for the dear ones who love us,
Till death bids our warm hearts be chill,
And our foes even then shall behold that above us
Our flag waves triumphantly still!
’Tis the flag that our sires and our grandsires died under;
The flag that our children shall bear
When at home in the old land the cannon’s dread thunder
Knells Tyranny’s doom on the air.
’Twill be born o’er the foam-crested waves of the ocean,
And true hearts in Ireland shall thrill
To see in the land of their love and devotion
Our flag wave triumphantly still.