THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD
(Words John Kells Ingram; tune Wm. Elliot Hudson)
Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight?
Who blushes at the name?
When cowards mock the patriots' fate,
Who hangs his head for shame?
He's all a knave or half a slave
Who slights his country thus,
But a true man, like you, man,
Will fill your glass with us.
We drink the memory of the brave,
The faithful and the few.
Some lie far off beyond the wave
Some sleep in Ireland, too;
All, all are gone, but still lives on
The fame of those who died
All true men, like you, men
Remember them with pride.
Some on the shores of distant lands
Their weary hearts have laid;
And by the stranger's heedless hands
Their lonely graves were made.
But, though their clay be far away
Beyond the Atlantic foam;
In true men, like you, men,
Their spirit's still at home.
The dust of some is Irish earth
Among their own they rest;
And the same land that gave them birth
Has caught them to her breast.
And we will pray that from their clay
Full many a race may start
Of true men, like you, men,
To act as brave a part.
They rose in dark and evil days
To right their native land;
They kindled here a living blaze
That nothing shall withstand.
Alas! that might can vanquish Right
They fell and pass'd away;
But true men, like you, men,
Are plenty here today.
Then here's their memory--may it be
For us a guiding light,
To cheer our strife for liberty
And teach us to unite.
Through good and ill, be Ireland's still
Though sad as theirs your fate;
And true men, be you, men,
Like those of Ninety-Eight
From Songs of Irish Rebelliom, Zimmerman
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