Am I remembered in Erin?
I charge you, speak me true!
Has my name a sound – a meaning,
In the scenes my boyhood knew?
Does the heart of the Mother ever
Recall her exile’s name?
For to be forgot in Erin,
And on earth, were all the same.

Oh, Mother! Mother Erin!
Many sons your age hath seen –
Many gifted constant lovers
Since your mantle first was green;
Then how in may I hope to cherish
The dream that I could be
In your crowded memory number’d
With that palm-crowned company?

Yet faint and far, my Mother!
As the hope shines on my sight,
I cannot choose but watch it
Till my eyes have lost their light;
For never among your brightest
And never among your best,
Was heart more true to Erin
Than beats within my breast.

Written by Thomas D’Arcy McGee.