The Harp of Erin | ||
Oh, Faith! oh, spotless Piety! awhile
Retard your flight from our deluded isle!
Yet, will its children learn your holy law;
Yet, hear your melting lore, with contrite awe;
Yet, spurn the miscreant-tribe, who madly stain
With error's dust your angel-guarded fane;
Redress your martyrs, who in silence grieve,
And bid the nations tremble, and believe!
Retard your flight from our deluded isle!
Yet, will its children learn your holy law;
Yet, hear your melting lore, with contrite awe;
Yet, spurn the miscreant-tribe, who madly stain
With error's dust your angel-guarded fane;
Redress your martyrs, who in silence grieve,
And bid the nations tremble, and believe!
The Harp of Erin | ||