Near a misty stream in Ireland
in the hollow of a tree
Live mystical, magical leprechauns
who are clever as can be
With their pointed ears, and turned up toes
and little coats of green
The leprechauns busily make their shoes
and try hard not to be seen.
Only those who really believe
have seen these little elves
And if we are all believers
We can surely see for ourselves.
Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter
Lullabies, dreams and love ever after.
Poems and songs with pipes and drums
A thousand welcomes when anyone comes...
That's the Irish for you!
May your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow
And may trouble avoid you wherever you go.
May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back,
The sun shine warm upon your face,
The rain fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.
There's a dear little plant that grows in Ireland.
'Twas Saint Patrick himself sure that set it.
And the sun on his labor with pleasure did smile.
And a tear from his eyes oft-times wet it.
It grows through the bog ...
Through the brake, and through the mireland.
And it's called the dear little Shamrock of Ireland.