Happy Saint Pats!

I bear orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon for the pikes must be togetlier at the rising of tlie moon. "Oh then, tell me Sean O’Farrell, where the gath'rin is to be?

In the old spot by the river well known to you and me
One word more for signal token, whistle up the marchin' tune.
With your pike upon your shoulder, by the risin' of the moon”.

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through that night
Many a manly heart was throbbing for the blessed warning liglrt
Murmurs passed along the valleys, like the banshee's lonely croon
And a thousand blades were flashing at the risin' of the moon.

There beside the singing river, that dark mass of men were seen
Far above the shining weapons hung their own beloved green
 “Death to every foe and traitor! Forward! strike the marching tune
And hurrah, my boys, for freedom, 'tis the risin' of the moon”.

Well they fought for poor old Ireland, and full bitter was their fate
(o, what glorious pride and sorrow fills the name of Ninety-Eight!)
Yet, thank God, e'en still ard beating hearts in manhood’s burning noon.
Who would follow in their footsteps at the risin' of the moon!