The time has come, the dawn of freedom’s day,

Above the G.P.O your Tricolour

O, Ireland! Flutters high and free at last

Britannia is defied, the die is cast.

The lion roars, up rising is this wrath.

Riffles speak sharply. England’s host come on.

Warships rush up the Liffey, big guns booming.

Artillery talks. Treat shells coming crashing down.

Each day is a nightmare. the fight grows fiercer, fiercer.

O, Dublin mountains! O, ye peaks of Wicklow!

Did you not thrill, and in amazement wonder?

Did you not marvel at the war-god’s thunder?

Once wrote a big man – the great Gaels of Ireland

Are mad. The Gaels of Easter were mad.

If madness means to live and die for the cause;

Like patriots to love, to suffer like martyrs

To battle for happy homes and alters free

They loved their land with everlasting love

Their one regret, that they could not give more, do more.

Christ – like, they carried the cross for Irelands sake

Their Calvary they climbed. They staggered, bled.

The Dublin streets took on a ruddier red.

Liberty’s sun rose over Hill of Howth.

Our great Gaels with their hearts’ blood paid the price.

And Ireland was re-born through sacrifice.

Michael Mullin

The Bard of Foremass

Come draw your stools around the fire,
And set yourselves at ease –
For the frost is tight outside tonight,
And bitter is the breeze;
And I will sing you a simple song,
A homely fireside one
Of a spot I love all spots above –
Of Foremass in Tyrone.

Now Foremass is not very wild,
Nor very grand and fair;
Gay tourists seldom visit it –
But it little seems to care.
It is a high  unsheltered hill
That runs from east to west,
And the north winds chill, that strike that hill
In winter are a pest.

But Foremass has its sunny side,
Like many another theme
It has men as bold as the men of old;
Love is no idle dream.
Hospitality and friendship free
Preside on each hearthstone.
And beggars find a “failte” kind
In Foremass in Tyrone.

In Foremass now by many a hearth
Is many a vacant chair –
For emigration’s footsteps made
A deep impression there.
There fathers mourn, and mothers yearn,
For many an absent one,
Who wandered east and wandered west
From Foremass in Tyrone.

Young boys and girls, far o’er the wave,
In many a land and clime,
Sigh for that home across the foam
Where passed youth’s happy time.
Though day by day, ‘mong strangers gay,
They live all sad and lone,
In visions bright they live at night
In Foremass in Tyrone.

There’s many a brave and generous heart
Yet beats on Foremass hill,
And there are brains to think, and hands
To toil for Erin still;
There are men as bold as the men of old,
Who will light, when Freedom’s won,
A beacon bright on the highest height
Of Foremass in Tyrone.

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

NEWSPAPER CUTTING – ULSTER HERALD – 1971

The Bard of Foremass praises his native heath

More than 60 years ago Mr. Michael Mullin “The Bard of Foremass” penned the following lines in praise of his native district.  They were first published in January, 1911.

My favourite stream! once more I come
Along thy grassy banks to roam;
Into thy glassy tide to gaze
And dream of dear departed days.

Since first thy verdant banks I ranged
Changed is the world, and I am changed:
Bright looked the world and hopeful then –
‘Twill ne’er look so to me again.

Bright hopes buoyed up my youthful breast,
Sorrow was seldom then its guest:
The future sunny seemed and fair –
Ere I was introduced to care.

I hoped true love on me would smile,
I hoped to help my hapless isle –
With voice and pen much good to do
In the dear cause of Roisin Dhu.

To-day, dear stream, how do I stand?
Nought have I helped my native land;
Her foes too strong, too weak am I –
I can but think of her, and sigh.

In vain I’ve loved, I’ve toiled in vain;
What once gave pleasure now gives pain:
Of youth’s bright hopes now scarce a spark
Remains to light me in the dark.

Dear stream! if fate still lets me rove
Along the verdant banks I love,
When dark the present looks I’ll flee
Back to the bygones, back to thee.

Michael Mullin

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