THE LONGING FOR IRELAND

You are old, little mother, so wrinkled and worn;

Your hair has grown whiter than snow,

And I know in your heart, you long to return

To the land that you left long ago.

The voice of the mountains is calling mo chroi,

And you yearn to answer the call,

Just to sail with the tide o’er the ocean so wide,

Back to Ireland and dear Donegal.

When you call me Alanna, I know, Mother mind,

You’ve been dreaming of Ireland again.

When you call me Asthore, I can tell that once more,

In your heart is the old longing pain.

Every night when you kneel, I can tell what you feel,

As the tears from your eyes gently fall.

I know that you pray for your friends far away,

Back in Ireland and dear Donegal.

You are old little Mother, the burden of years

Must tell on the weak or the strong.

And the road to that island of sunshine and tears

Is long, little mother, so long.

But together we’ll go back to Ireland mo chroi,

Please God, we’ll be there by the Fall.

And the sunrise and sunset of life you shall see,

In Ireland and old Donegal.