So, masters who have ruled so long
With cruel rods of iron,
Who sought with gyves and fetters strong
Our freedom to environ,
In plenitude of sullen power
Our tearful pleadings spurning:
Prepare ye for your fated hour,
Beware—the tide is turning!
Yes! yes! at last we fling the past
With all its woes behind us,
And stand to-day in firm array
Against the bonds that bind us.
With brutal grip of tyrant hand
Ye choked our aspirations,
And made our fertile motherland
The Niobe of nations;
To feed the vices of your lords,
Ye stole the people’s earning,
And held the theft with hireling swords—
But now the tide is turning!
Yes! yes! to-day your hated sway
Is tottering to ruin,
The Irish race a future face
That will not harbor you in!
Ye kept us chained to ignorance,
In fear that education
Might teach our brains the wisest chance
To liberate the nation.
But, spite of all your guile and thrall,
Our people still are learning
What most will tend your yoke to rend,
And so the tide is turning.
Yes! yes! the cause, despite your laws,
Each rusty chain is breaking;
The portents smile upon our isle,
For Ireland is awaking.
From meadows rich of smooth Kildare
To frowning crags of Kerry,
From ocean-girdled shores of Clare
To busy marts of Derry,
In our opprest, north, south, east, west,
A newer spirit’s burning—
The conquering fire of brave desire,
That tells the tide is turning.
Yes! yes! we mark through centuries dark
The light at last is blazing,
Till on our brow no serf-brand now
Can chill a friendly gazing.