The Dear Little Shamrock

There’s a dear little plant that grows on our Isle,
‘Twas Saint Patrick himself, sure, that set it,
And the sun on his labor with pleasure did smile,
And with dew from his eye often wet it.
It shines through the bog, through the break, and the mire-land,
And he called it the dear little shamrock of Ireland,

Refrain
The dear little shamrock, the sweet little shamrock,
the dear little, sweet little shamrock of Ireland.

That dear little plant that springs from our soil,
When its three little leaves are extended,
Denotes form the stalk we together should toil,
And ourselves by ourselves be befriended,
And still through the bog, through the brakes, and the mire-land,
From one root should branch, like the shamrock of Ireland. Refrain