XV

May all the flowers o' Jeroosilim blossom an' spring from the grass,

Imbrashin' an' kissin' aich other—as ye did—over yer Crass!

An' the lark fly out o' the flowers wid his song to the Sun an' the Moon,

An' tell thim in Hiven about Molly Magee an' her Danny O'Roon,

Till Holy St. Pether gets up wid his kays an' opens the gate!

An' shure, be the Crass, that's betther nor cuttin' the Sassenach whate

To be there wid the Blessed Mother, an' Saints an' Marthyrs galore,

An' singin' yer 'Aves' an' 'Pathers' for iver an' ivermore.