Blame me not if I’m unworthy
Of the bards of Erin’s land-
Erin of the mighty poets,
Erin of the singers bland;
Erin of the lofty spirit,
Erin of the open hand.

Erin, Erin, ever woven
In the wistful exile dreams;
Erin of the songful woodlands,
Erin of the singing streams,
Erin of the Freedom lovers,
Erin of the Sunburst gleams.

Erin of the blessed Shamrock,
Erin of traditions quaint,
Erin of the great St. Patrick-
Land of many a glorious saint;
Erin racked with tortures; Erin
Where the Faith grew never faint.

I’m not worthy of thee, Erin!
But I’ll try to worthy be-
Worthy of thy saints and sages,
Of my sires who fought for thee.
May I yet be worthy of thee,
Fairest daughter of the sea.

MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass’,
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.