Our Whole World

Foggy Dew

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As down the glen one Easter morn to a city  fair rode I

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There armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by

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No fife did hum nor battle drum did sound it's dread tatoo

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But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out through the foggy dew
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Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war

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'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Sulva or Sud El Bar

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And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through

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While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew
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'Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be free

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But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves or the shore of the Great North Sea

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Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha

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Their names we will keep where the fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew
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But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear

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For those who died that Eastertide in the springing of the year

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And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few

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Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew
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Ah, back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore

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For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more

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But to and fro in my dreams I go and I'd kneel and pray for you,

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For slavery fled, O glorious dead, When you fell in the foggy dew.