We drink to the memory of the brave, the faithful and the few
Some way far off beyond the wave, some sleep in Ireland too
Oh woe, we're gone but still live on, the fame of those who died
All true men like you men, remember them with pride

Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight? Who blushes at the name?
When cowards mock each patriot's fate
Who hangs his head in shamе?
He's all a knave or half a slave, who slights his country thus
For a truе man like you, man, would fill your glass with us

Some on the shores of distant lands, their weary hearts have laid
And by a stranger's heedless hands, their lonely graves were made
But though their clay be far away, beyond the Atlantic foam
In true men like you men, their spirit's still at home

Who fears to speak of the Fenian men? Who blushes at their name?
When cowards mock each patriot's fate
Who hangs their head in shame?
He's all a knave or half a slave, who slights his country thus
For a true man like you, man, will fill your glass with us

Then here's their memory, may it be for us a guiding light
To cheer our strife for liberty and teach us to unite
Oh, good and ill be Ireland still and sad will be her fate
And true like you, men, like those of Ninety-Eight
Who fears to speak of Easter Week, who blushes at the name?
When cowards mock each patriot's fate
Who hangs his head in shame?
He's all a knave or half a slave, who slights his country thus
For a true man like you, man, would fill your glass with us