Cha b'e sneachda 's an reothadh ò thuath
Cha b'e 'n crannadh geur fuar ò 'n ear
Cha b'e 'n t-uisge 's gaillionn ò 'n iar
Ach an galar a bhlian ò 'n deas
Blàth, duileach, stoc agus freumh
Cànan mo threubh 's mo shluagh
   
Sèist: [bad word] (after each verse):
Thig thugainn, thig [bad word] gu siar
Gus an cluinn sinn ann cànan nan Gàidheal
Thig thugainn, thig [bad word] gu siar
Gus an cluinn sinn ann cànan nan Gàidheal
   
Bheir anuas dhuinn na coinnleirean òr
'S ann annt càraibh na coinnlean geal cèir
Lasaibh suas iad an seòmar a' bhròin
Taigh aire seann chànan a' Ghàidheil
'Se siud ò chionn fhad' thuirt an nàmh
Ach fhathast tha beò Cànan nan Gàidheal
   
Ged theich i le beath' às na glinn
Ged 's gann an diugh chluinnear i nas mò
O Dhùthaich Mhic Aoidh fada tuath [bad word] thu [bad word] Uachdar nam bò
Gidheadh, dhith na h-Eileanan Siar
Biodh claidheamh is sgiath ud 'n ur dòrn
   
Ged nach cluinnear anis i 'san dùn
No 'n talla nan cliar is nan corn
Ged tha meòir Chloinn 'ic Criomain gun lùths
O 'n tric fheasgar ciùin dhòirteadh ceòl
Gidheadh, anns ha h-Eileanan Siar
'S i fhathast ann, ciad chàinnt an t-slòigh

It wasn't the snow of frost from the north
It wasn't the cold snap from the east
It wasn't the rain or gale from the west
But the disease which has blanched from the south
The blossom, foliage, stem and roots
Of the language of my race and people
 [bad word] [bad word] along and join us in the west
So that we will hear the language of the [bad word] along and join us in the west
So that we will hear the language of the Gael

Fetch down the golden chandeliers
And set the white wax candles in them
Light them up in the chamber of sorrow
The wake house of the old Gaelic language
That's what the enemy said a long time ago
But the Gaelic language still lives

Although she has retreated from the glens
Though one hears her so seldom now
From the Mackay far in the north
Down to [bad word] of the cattle
But even so, we need to have the sword and shield
In our fists in the Western Isles

Although it is no longer heard in the castle
Nor in the hall of bards and drinking cups
Though the fingers of the MacCrimmons lie without strength
Which once played such splendid music of an evening
She's even under threat in the Isles
Though it's still the first language of the people