My Own Native Land lyrics

My Own Native Land - Version 1

Oh the hills roll in green, where the wild rivers flow
And the heather is kissed by the soft winds that blow,
Though I wander afar, over sea, over sand,
My heart it lies low in my own native land.

My own native land, where the shamrocks are free,
Where the lark lifts its song by the wide open sea,
No jewel more fair, no treasure so grand,
As the love that I hold for my own native land.

I recall every stone, every stream, every glen,
And the voices I knew, of my kindred and friends,
Though strangers may smile and give gold in my hand,
I would trade it for one day in my own native land.

My own native land, where the shamrocks are free,
Where the lark lifts its song by the wide open sea,
No jewel more fair, no treasure so grand,
As the love that I hold for my own native land.

[Instrumental]

When the night gathers deep, and the stars fill the sky,
I can still hear the pipes, with their sorrowful cry,
And the old songs they sing by the fireside stand
Call me home, call me home to my own native land.

Oh carry me home on the wind and the tide,
To the fields and the hills where my memories abide,
No fortune or fame could I ever demand,
But the blessing of rest in my own native land.

My own native land, where the shamrocks are free,
Where the lark lifts its song by the wide open sea,
No jewel more fair, no treasure so grand,
As the love that I hold for my own native land.

As the love that I hold for my own native land.

As the love that I hold for my own native land.

My Own Native Land - Version 1

There's a dear little isle in the Western Ocean
It's an island of purity, holy and grand
It's name fills its daughters and sons with emotion
When they are heard on a far distant strand.

'Tis Ireland, my country, the birthplace of heroes
The home of the patriot, warrior and sage
Of bards and of chieftains whose names live in story
May they live forever on history's page.

You once were a proud and a glorious nation
Your name and your fame were known all over the world
'Til misfortune came over you and sad desolation
Your emerald banner in slavery lay unfurled.

They tortured your children, they spoiled your green banner
They tried to exterminate you long, long, long ago
But the Irish are somehow like wild, creeping flowers
The faster you pluck them, the quicker they seem to grow.

I love every blade of grass, green on your mountains,
Every leaf on your tree, and every rock upon your strand
I love your green valleys and murmuring fountains
I love you, acushla, my own dear native land.