These exiles, Eire! heard your call, and come to visit you
In hundreds and in thousands. Give them a welcome true.
O Mountains! you will see them first you stand aloft so high;
And they from far away will see your summits in the sky.
In all your grandeur greet them, and give them welcome fair;
Take off your vapour bonnets and fling them high in air;
And as their ships draw nearer in, to fill their hearts with hopes
Write Cead Mile Failte across your heather slopes.
Soft Irish Winds! caress them, their heated brows to fan,
And stamp them, Sun of Ireland! With a real Gaelic tan.
Where lakes like silver brooches shine on Eire’s lovely breast,
By stately groves and singing streams, O let them rove and rest.
O’er mountains beautiful and grand their footsteps gently guide;
And show them that our olden land holds much in which to pride.
Give to these Gaels who’ve heard your call and sped across the foam,
Give, Eire! Eire! – give them all a hearty welcome home.
‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS’
FOREMASS LOWER, SIXMILECROSS, CO. TYRONE