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The Quiet Land of Erin

words: Joan O'Hara; music attrib. Sean MacAmbrosius


By myself I'd be in Ard Ui Cuain
where the mountain stands away.
And tis I would let the Sundays go
in the cuckoo's glen above the bay.

Agus och, och Eire lig is o,
Eire lonndubh is O,
ah the quiet land of Erin.

Ah, my heart is weary all alone
and it sends a lonely cry
To the land that sings beyond my dreams
and the lonely Sundays pass me by

I would ravel back the twisted years
in the bitter wasted winds.
If the God above would let me lie
in a quiet place above the winds.