A stór mo chroí, when you’re far away
From the home that you’ll soon be leaving,
‘Tis many a time by night and by day
That your heart will be sorely grieving
For the stranger’s land may be bright and fair
And rich in her treasures golden
You’ll pine, I know, for the long ago
And the love that is never olden.

A stór mo chroí, in the stranger’s land
There is plenty of wealth and wailing;
Whilst gems adorn the great and the grand
There are faces with hunger paleing
The road may be weary and hard to tread
And the lights of their cities blind you
Oh! turn a stór, to Erin’s shore
And the loved ones you’ve left behind you

A stór mo chroí, when the evening mist
Over mountain and meadow is falling,
Won’t you turn away from the throng and list—
And maybe you’ll hear me calling—
For the sound of a voice that is sorely missed
For somebody’s speedy returning,
A rún, a rún, won’t you come back soon
To the one that will always love you.
Is dá mba liomsa