As it is the anniversary of the murder of four of freedom's champions, Rory, Liam, Dick and Joe, I offer the following recitation I learned in Belfast, some time around 1977. I never learned to spell in any language, so feel free to correct spelling os Gaelige or os Berla. To our English comrades who don't understand, please accept that their are more things in heaven or earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy, and to all those comrades English and of any nation, that do understand, one day that understanding will bring together a mighty working class response to those leaders of industry and their political puppets, who seek to divide us and profit from our being divided by wars, for which we in the working class never derive the benefits.

Who dares to say forget the past, to those of Irish birth?
Who dares to say cease fighting, for our place upon this earth?

Let remembrance be our watchword, and our dead we will never fail.
Let their graves to be us as milestones, on that blood-soaked one-way trail.

Remember how Owain Rowe fought, Port Lester mill beside.
No man can say a coward fell when Hugh O'Donnell died.

Remember Ruth and Starsfield and forget, whoever will,
That glorious stand in Limerick, at Kilnacaden hill.

How Emmitt's gallant handful, in historic Dublin Town,
Rode forth to give their challenge, to the forces of the crown.

And then for a time, 'twas silent. Was Ireland's struggle done?
The answer is in the negative, thundered many a Fenian gun.

And then when England thought she'd won, that we at last were meek,
Roared forth the glorious challenge of the men of Easter week!

Remember how our solders fought the scum of many lands,
Fought the scum of Britain's prisons - Britain's "Black and Tans".

And then by men we trusted, this land of ours was sold.
They sold our friends to enemies, as Judas did, of old.

Remember how in Kerry they butchered our lads like swine!
God! Think of Ballyseedy, where they tied them to a mine.

How Rory and Liam and Dick and Joe, to glut the Imperial beast,
Were murdered, while in prison, on our Blessed Lady's feast.

How, with overworked revolver as he dashed from that hotel,
Roared a rebel's last defiance as Cathal Brugha fell.

Hear we not the voice of Connelly, the worker-soldier's friend?
Our conquered soul asserts itself, and WE SHALL RISE AGAIN!

For Freedom, yes and not to starve, and not for rocks and clay,
But for the lives of Ireland's working class, we fight and die today.

And what, says Cathal Brugha, if the last man is on the ground,
If he is lying, week and helpless, and his enemies ring him round?

If he has fired his final bullet, and spent his final shot,
And they say, Come into the Empire, he will answer, I WILL NOT!

Then back, back to that one-way trail.
Ni shiorchan go saorcha is the war cry of the Gael!

While out country stands beside us with the blood of martyrs set,
Wayside crosses to remind us, WHO DARES TO SAY FORGET?

While Emmitt's tomb is uninscribed, until we our rights assert,
Until our country takes her place among the nations of the earth.