Dear Little Shamrock of Ireland
There's a dear little plant that grows in our isle,
'Twas St Patrick himself, sure, that set it;
And the sun on his labor with pleasure did smile,
And with dew from his eye often wet it.
It thrives through the bog, through the brake, and the mire land;
And he called it the dear little shamrock of Ireland...
'Twas St Patrick himself, sure, that set it;
And the sun on his labor with pleasure did smile,
And with dew from his eye often wet it.
It thrives through the bog, through the brake, and the mire land;
And he called it the dear little shamrock of Ireland...
- Andrew Cherry
