Here is the text from And as I Rode by Granard Moat by Benedict Kiely (Dublin: Lilliput Press, 1996):

The night we rode with Sarsfield out from Limerick to meet
The wagon train that William hoped would help in our defeat,
How clearly I remember it though now my hair is white
That clustered black and curly 'neath my trooper's cap that night.

For I was one of Sarsfield's men, in years though still a lad,
And to be one of Sarsfield's men what boy would not be glad?
For Sarsfield chose, of all his troops, the best and bravest ones
To ride and raid the convoy's camp that brought the English guns.

'Twas silently we left the town and silently we rode,
While o'er our heads the silent stars in silver beauty glowed.
And silently and stealthily, well led by one who knew,
We crossed the shining Shannon at the ford of Killaloe.

The galloping O'Hogan, Ireland's fiery-hearted son,
'Twas he, by many a byway, led us confidently on,
Till when the night was nearly spent we saw the distant glow
The English convoy's campfire in the quiet vale below.

Still silently and stealthily, at Sarsfield's stern command.
We close and closer drew the lines of our devoted band
'We must not fail, my comrades.' That was Sarsfield's voice that spoke.
'For Limerick and Ireland's fate depends upon this stroke.

'The password of the Willamites is Sarsfield. Strange but true.
And with that word upon our lips, we'll pass the sentries through.
Then when you hear my voice upraised, charge boldly, one and all.
No cannon from this convoy e'er must bark at Limerick's wall.'

The sleepy sentry, on his rounds, perhaps was musing o'er
His happy days of childhood on the pleasant English shore,
Perhaps was thinking of his home and wishing he were there
When springtime makes the English land so wonderfully fair.

At last our horses' hoof-beats and our jingling arms he heard.
'Halt! Who goes there?' the sentry cried: 'Advance and give the word.'
'The word is Sarsfield,' cried our Chief. 'And stop us he who can.
For Sarsfield is the word tonight. And Sarsfield is the man.'

One bursting cheer, one headlong charge, and sabres bright and keen
Are hacking at the foemen's heads where'er a head is seen.
The colonel leaves his wig behind, bestrides a horse and flies
To tell of Sarsfield's daring and the convoy camp's surprise.

We make a pile of captured guns and powder-kegs and stores,
Then skyward in one flaming blast the great explosion roars.
And then we sang, as back we rode with Sarsfield in the van:
'Ho! Sarsfield is the word tonight and Sarsfield is the man.'

The night we rode with Sarsfield, I shall always hold it dear.
Though he is dead on Landen Plain, this many and many a year.
Though he is dead and I am old, my hair all silver white
That clustered black and curly 'neath my trooper's cap that night.

For I was one of Sarsfield's men, while yet a boy in years
I rode as one of Sarsfield's men and men were my compeers.
They're dead, the most of them, afar, yet they were Ireland's sons
Who saved the walls of Limerick from the might of English guns.

[Note: I had to piece the above lines together from snippets. I was not able to determine the title or the author. I have boldfaced the differences between this version and the one posted by smpc above.--JD]