To-Morrow!

Though not yet freed — from England's Soul
There's one more Fetter broken!
The spirit that will reach the goal,
And win at last, has spoken.
We Swear — and all the world has heard —
To end this Shame and Sorrow;
And as God lives To-Day, that Word
Shall be our Deed To-Morrow.

Our opening eyes, at length, though late,
Can see the Ancient Blindness;
And we, who crushed each other in hate,
Would try the Clasp of Kindness, —
Would reach the Irish heart with grip
Frank, honest, trustful, thorough;
And show how fearless Statesmanship
Can make us Friends To-Morrow.

You had to trust them many a time,
As on them Napier reckoned
To win Meeanee's fight sublime,
With his glorious " Twenty- Second " —
" Magnificent Tipperary! " He
Could lean on them, and borrow
His rest that night! for Victory
Would march with them To-Morrow.

To think of all our Irish Dead
Should thrill you English living!
For us they fought, for us they bled,
To us the triumph giving!
Foremost on many a bloody day
They charged with their wild " Hurroo!"
Through England's Foes they clove a way
For Ireland free To Morrow.

For us they conquered as they died,
And with their last endeavour,
Dying for England, still they cried,
" Old Ireland for ever /" 2
Their dust has given us deeper root
In many a field and furrow;
We think 'tis time they shared the fruit,
And they shall share To-Morrow!