Four gleaming scythes in the sunshine swaying,
Through the deep hush of a summer´s day,
Before their edges four stout men sweeping
In tuneful measure the fragrant hay.
Myself the fourth of them, strong and happy,
My keen blue steel moving fast and free.
Ah! Little then was the broadest meadow
And light the heaviest scythe to me!

O King of Glory! What a change is o´er me
Since the young blood thrilled me long, long ago,
And each day found me with the sunshine round me
And the tall grass falling to my every blow.
O´er the dewy meadows came the cailín´s voices,
Ringing glad and merry as they raked the hay.
Oh! The hours pass quickly as a beam of sunshine
When the years are rosy and the heart is gay.

Like fairy minstrels, the bees a-humming
Went honey-seeking from flower to flower;
Like golden berries in the distance gleaming,
I´ve watched and listened to them hour by hour.
And the butterflies on the sunbeams riding,
With wings surpassing e´en the blush of dawn,
Or like fairy jewels, full of light and splendour
On the golden crown of the buachalán.

The blackbird´s lay in the woods rang clearly,
The thrush´s notes echoed far and high,
While the lark´s full song, like a bell´s vibration
Comes floating down from the midmost sky.
From his leafy station the linnet lifted
His little voice in the hazel glen,
And O God of Grace, was not life a pleasure,
In our green and beautiful Eirinn then!