THE HILLS ABOVE DRUMQUIN

God bless the Hills of Donegal, I’ve heard their praises sung

In days long gone beyond recall, when I was very young.

Then I would pray to see a day, before life’s course be run

When I could sing the praises of the Hills above Drumquin.

I love the hills of Dooish, be they heather-clad or lea,

The wooded glens of Cooel, and the fort on Dunaree

The green-clad slopes of Kirlish, as they meet the setting sun,

Descending in it's glory on the Hills above Drumquin.

Drumquin, you’re not a city, but you’re all the world to me

Your lot I’ll never pity should you never greater be

For I love you as I knew you, when from school I used to run,

On my homeward journey thro’ you to the Hills above Drumquin.

When the whins across Drumbarley make the fields a yellow blaze

When the heather turns to purple on my native Dressog braes

When the sandstone rocks of Claramore are glistening in the sun

Then nature’s at her grandest on the Hills above Drumquin.

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I have seen the Scottish Highlands they have beauties wild and grand

I have journeyed in the Lowlands, ‘tis a cold and cheerless land

But I always toiled content, for when each hard days work was done

My heart went back at sunset, to the Hills above Drumquin.

This world is sad and dreary, and the tasks of life are sore,

My feet are growing weary, I might never wander more

But I want to rest in Langfield when the sands of life are run

In the sheltering shades of Dooish and the hills above Drumquin.