WHILE tyrants rule the land,
Beneath the Irish skies;
While eer the iron hand
Upon our people lies;
While sons are driven forth
In other lands to dwell,
Still in the South and North
Old Ireland will rebel!
Rebel, rebel!
Old Ireland will rebel!
While fanlike from below,
And pale against the skies,
That light of shamethe glow
Of burning homesshall rise;
While hot indignant tears
From Irish hearts shall swell:
Be it a thousand years,
Old Ireland will rebel!
Rebel, rebel!
Old Ireland will rebel!
Until the tyrants rod
Shall broken be in twain,
And on the dear old sod
Blest freedom treads again;
Or till our masters learn
To rule our country well,
The fires of hate shall burn!
Old Ireland will rebel!
Rebel, rebel!
Old Ireland will rebel!
