There's a tear in your eye, And I'm wondering why, For it never should be there at all. With such pow'r in your smile, Sure a stone you'd beguile, So there's never a teardrop should fall. When your sweet lilting laughter's Like some fairy song, And your eyes twinkle bright as can be; You should laugh all the while And all other times smile, And now, smile a smile for me. When Irish eyes are smiling, Sure, 'tis like the morn in Spring. In the lilt of Irish laughter You can hear the angels sing. When Irish hearts are happy, All the world seems bright and gay. And when Irish eyes are smiling, Sure, they steal your heart away. For your smile is a part Of the love in your heart, And it makes even sunshine more bright. Like the linnet's sweet song, Crooning all the day long, Comes your laughter and light. For the springtime of life Is the sweetest of all There is ne'er a real care or regret; And while springtime is ours Throughout all of youth's hours, Let us smile each chance we get.

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling From glen to glen, and down the mountain side The summer's gone, and all the roses dying 'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide. But come ye back when summer's in the meadow Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow And I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so. And if you come, when all the roses dying And I am dead, as dead I well may be You'll come and find the place where I am lying And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me. And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me And all my grave will soft and sweeter be And then you'll bend to tell me that you love me And I shall rest in peace until you come to me. And I shall rest in peace until you come to me.

Oh how do you do, young Willy McBride Do you mind if I sit here down beside your graveside And rest for a while 'neath the warm summer sun I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done And I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen When you joined the great fallen in 1916 Well I hope you died quick And I hope you died clean Oh Willy McBride, was is it slow and obscene Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down? Did the band play the Last Post in chorus? Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest? And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined And though you died back in 1916 To that loyal heart you're forever nineteen Or are you a stranger without even a name Forever enshrined behind some old glass pane In an old photograph torn, tattered, and stained And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down? Did the band play the Last Post in chorus? Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest? The sun shining down on these green fields of France The warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance The trenches have vanished long under the plow No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now But here in this graveyard that's still no man's land The countless white crosses in mute witness stand To man's blind indifference to his fellow man And a whole generation were butchered and damned Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down? Did the band play the Last Post in chorus? Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest? And I can't help but wonder oh Willy McBride Do all those who lie here know why they died? Did you really believe them when they told you the cause? Did you really believe that this war would end wars? Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame The killing and dying it was all done in vain Oh Willy McBride it all happened again And again, and again, and again, and again Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down? Did the band play the Last Post in chorus? Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

In the days I went a courtin' I was never tired resortin' To an alehouse or a playhouse and many's the house beside But I told me brother Seamus I'd go off and be right famous And I'd never would return again 'til I'd roam the world wide Goodbye Muirsheen Durkin sure I'm sick and tired of workin' No more I'll dig the praties and no longer I'll be fooled As sure as me name is Carney I'll be off to California Where instead of diggin' praties I'll be diggin' lumps of gold I've courted girls in Blarney in Kanturk and in Killarney In Passage and in Queenstown that is the Cobh of Cork Goodbye to all this pleasure I'll be off to take me leisure And the next time that you hear from me will be a letter from New York So it's goodbye Muirsheen Durkin I'm sick and tired of workin' No more I'll dig the praties and no longer I'll be fooled As sure as me name is Carney I'll be off to California Where instead of diggin' praties I'll be diggin' lumps of gold Goodbye to the girls at home I'm going far across the foam To try and make me fortune in far America There's gold and jewels in plenty for the poor and for the gentry And when I return again I never more will say Goodbye Muirsheen Durkin sure I'm sick and tired of workin' No more I'll dig the praties and no longer I'll be fooled For as sure as me name is Carney I'll be off to California Where instead of diggin' praties I'll be diggin' lumps of gold

If you ever go across the sea to Ireland, It may be at the closing of the day, You will sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh, And watch the sun go down on Galway bay. Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream The women in the meadow making hay, And to sit beside the turf fire in a cabin, And watch the bare-foot gosoons as they play, For the breezes blowing over the sea's from Ireland, Are perfumed by the heather as it blows, And the women in the uplands diggin praties, Speak a language that strangers do not know, For the strangers came and tried to teach us their ways, They scorned us just for being who we are, But they might as well go chasing after moonbeams, Or light a penny candle from a star. And if there is going to be a life here after, And somehow I am sure there's going to be, I will ask my God to let me make my heaven In that dear land across the Irish sea.