'Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I
When Ireland's lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum and no battle [bad word] 
Was sounded straight and [bad word] 
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell
Rang out in the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky
Than at Suvla or Sud-el-bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came hurrying by
While Britannia's sons with their long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew

'Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves
Or the fringe of the great North Sea
But had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Cathal [bad word] 
Their graves we'd would keep where the Fenians sleep
'Neath the hills of the foggy dew

The bravest fell, and the solemn bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Easter tide
In the springing of the year
And the world did gaze in deep amaze
At those fearless men and [bad word] 
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew