There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.

There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.

When law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow;
And when the leaves in Summer-time read more

When law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow;
And when the leaves in Summer-time their colour dare not show;
Then will I change the colour too, I wear in my caubeen;
But till that day, plaze God, I'll stick to wearin' o' the Green.

The dust of some is Irish earth,
Among their own they rest.

The dust of some is Irish earth,
Among their own they rest.

Th' an'am an Dhia, but there it is--
The dawn on the hills of Ireland.
God's angels read more

Th' an'am an Dhia, but there it is--
The dawn on the hills of Ireland.
God's angels lifting the night's black veil
From the fair sweet face of my sireland!
O Ireland, isn't it grand, you look
Like a bride in her rich adornin',
And with all the pent up love of my heart
I bid you the top of the morning.

There is a stone there,
That whoever kisses,
Oh! he never misses
To grow read more

There is a stone there,
That whoever kisses,
Oh! he never misses
To grow eloquent.
'Tis he may clamber
To a lady's chamber
Or become a member
Of Parliament.

The groves of Blarney
They look so charming
Down by the purling
Of sweet, read more

The groves of Blarney
They look so charming
Down by the purling
Of sweet, silent brooks.

Arm of Erin, prove strong, but be gentle as brave,
And, uplifted to strike, still be ready to save;
read more

Arm of Erin, prove strong, but be gentle as brave,
And, uplifted to strike, still be ready to save;
Not one feeling of vengeance presume to defile
The cause or the men of the Emerald Isle.

Old Dublin City there is no doubtin'
Bates every city upon the say.
'Tis there you'd hear read more

Old Dublin City there is no doubtin'
Bates every city upon the say.
'Tis there you'd hear O'Connell spoutin'
And Lady Morgan making tay.
For 'tis the capital of the finest nation,
With charmin' pisintry upon a fruitful sod,
Fightin' like devils for conciliation,
And hatin' each other for the Love of God.

When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the
trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but read more

When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the
trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.