Wednesday, 2 March 2011


Come, Irish men, I pray tend
And listen to these words I tell,
For I sing of they from a bygone day -
For the brave young lads we all knew well.
Young lads who died that freedom's light
Might shine so bright across the land,
For no braver men has Ireland seen,
Than O'Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands.

Young Irishmen in Ulster born,
Deprived of freedom, work and hope,
Oppressed by brutal racist laws
That grind men down beneath the yoke.
And when the bloodhound comes at night
To terror strike across the land,
With their tanks and guns and poor man's sons,
O'Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands.

And in the hell of an H-block cell,
Where tyrants try to break men's wills,
And boots and bars leave life-long scars,
Those brave men's spirits ne'er did yield.
The words of Christ then came to mind,
Who'd give up his life for his fellow man?
And the volunteers without dread or fear
Were O'Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands.

For three-score days those men they lay
Under Margaret Thatcher's tyranny,
And British churchmen came to say
That no clergyman theirs souls could free.
But far and wide with tears and pride,
Their story was told in distant lands,
So your voices raise; we will sing in praise
Of O'Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands.

Now brave men die and sick men lie
And weak men turn their heads away,
But short is the hour of those in power
Who truth and the rights of man betray.
But the fight will go on and we'll not be done
While man is unfree in this fair land,
And in freedom's day we will sing in praise
Of O'Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Thank you for remembering lots of love from Ireland "Tiocfaidh Ar La" xXx