Children Of Erin by Amos
(Tune:  The Foggy Dew)

I am but a child, of Erin born,
Where the Shannon's tide runs free 
Where the green hills stand on an ancient land 
Did my parents' love bear me 
And the world so sweet 
Heard my pattering feet 
As I reached a young girl's age 
Raised upon dark tales 
Of the banshee's wail 
And the blood of an ancient rage

In shaded glens, and the streets of men 
As a young girl I have grown 
Where the strangest song 
Was of dreams gone wrong, 
Of the keening and the widows' moans
For the boys and men, who have left our ken, 
To the hard guns lost were they. 
And the hardened hearts,
That most bitter part, 
Brought chills to a young child's days.

Could a girl, still young wish a brighter sun 
For her nation, whole, and new? 
Could a young child's dreams 
Ever speak to those 
Who had walked in the blood-red dew?
For the time does grow, as the new blood knows,
And to new hearts does unfold 
And where maidens wept,
May new vows be kept, 
That the children may grow whole.

Where fighting men died in mountain glens 
May the silent thistle grow 
Cold steel and hot blood 
Have done no thing good 
For an Irish daughter's soul.
Shall the shining light 
Of a promise bright, 
Touch the land where the Shannon flows? 
In each woman and man, may a true vow stand 
That the broken may now grow whole.

When my love I meet and our firstborn greet 
In a nearby future day, 
Should he need to know 
Of our deepest vows, 
Will he hear me gladly say 
That we gave our names
To a higher claim, 
Where the blood runs deep in the soul? 
And turned our hand to a kinder land, 
Where the children now grow whole.

©Amos H. Jessup (2000)