God rest you, rest you, rest you, Ireland's dead!
— Peace be upon you shed,
Peace from the Mercy of the Crucified,
— You, who for Ireland died!
Soft fall on you the dews and gentle airs
— Of interceding prayers,
From lowly cabins of our ancient land,
— Yours yet, O Sacred Band!
God rest you, rest you: for the fight you fought
— Was His; the end you sought,
His; from His altar fires you took your flame,
— Hailing His Holy Name.
Triumphantly you gave yourselves to death:
— And your last breath
Was one last sigh for Ireland, sigh to Him,
— As the loved land grew dim.

And still, blessed and martyr souls! you pray
— In the same faith this day:
From forth your dwelling beyond sun and star,
— Where only spirits are,
Your prayers in a perpetual flight arise,
— To fold before God's Eyes
Their tireless wings, and wait the Holy Word
— That one day shall be heard.
Not unto us , they plead, Thy goodness gave
— Our mother to enslave;
To us Thou gavest death for love of her:
— Ah, what death lovelier?
But to our children's children give to see
— The perfect victory!
Thy dead beseech thee: to Thy living give
— In liberty to live!