The music is in me,
and I in the music
as we unite.
It guides me ever toward blessed light,
and beckons me away from strife,
"Ah, come, with heart and soul,
come now, and drink the Irish life.
In every note the rolling hills,
and freedom's fields strewn 'bout with green,
as harp and whistle bare me hence,
to distant lands as yet unseen.
I see a stream in every measure,
and know its depth,
each secret treasure,
so neatly kept,
is born to me on wings of song,
where all is right through ages long.
As Heaven once more touches Earth,
and bares all woe to farthest mountain,
and I fly,
yes, freely, fondly fly on falcons' wings,
to the flowing fountain, where the whistle sings . . .
where music swells,
and digs new wells,
as yet untouched by time's cruel knife,
and at one's will,
one yet may fill,
the thirsty soul with Irish life.
Page and Poem Copyright 2005 by Quipster
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.