Our Fathers' Fields We Long Have Till'D Poem by John Banim

[Note: Air--``Molly Asthore.'']

Our fathers' fields we long have till'd,
Despised and stricken down--
The Sassenach's serf! his stores we fill'd,
And trembled at his frown--
No face but his to turn unto,
And pray to save, in time,
By pity, help, or counsel true,
Our breaking hearts from crime.

And ever as we turn'd to it,
That proud face from us turn'd,
And left us on our hills to sit,
Forsaken, wrong'd, and spurn'd--
Until our hearts in madness woke!
And up at last we stood,
And, shrieking to the night, we broke
On him and his--for blood!

But now within our fields we hear
A pleasant voice arise--
``The Sassenach's frown no longer fear,
And dry your wretched eyes;
For friends, with power his power to quell,
Are thinking now of you,
And listen while your griefs you tell,
To teach you what to do.

``If the oppressor strip you bare,
You shall be clothed again--
And if unlawful wrong he dare,
The law shall scourge him then--
And sorely shall he rue the day
He goaded you to guilt--
And your revenge shall turn away,
And blood no more be spilt!''