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Nothing Too Good For The Irish.
By W. M. MacKeracher
It's the Emerald Isle is the beautiful land:
There's nothing too good for the Irish.
O'er the whole of it, Nature, at heaven's command,
Has scattered her charms with a prodigal hand
From Skibbereen town to the Donegal strand;
For there's nothing too good for the Irish.
And it's many a hero the Irish can claim:
There's nothing too good for the Irish.
"Red Hugh" put his country's invaders to shame;
Owen Roe was a fighter they never could tame;
As a nation the Irish have glory and fame;
For there's nothing too good for the Irish.
And the Irish are noted for piety, too:
There's nothing too good for the Irish.
In the far-away time before Brian Boru,
The faith by Saint Patrick was planted and grew,
And the "Island of Saints" has had saints not a few:
For there's nothing too good for the Irish.
And the best of all orators Irishmen are:
There's nothing too good for the Irish.
The voice of Columba was heard from afar,
Burke's eloquence rolled like a conquering car,
And the name of O'Connell's a radiant star;
For there's nothing too good for the Irish.
And the Irishman always is witty, of course;
There's nothing too good for the Irish.
And his wit is as genial and kind as its source;
It never leaves anyone feeling the worse;
He makes bulls, but a good Irish bull's a white horse;
For there's nothing too good for the Irish.
You are thinking, no doubt, to the race I belong:
There's nothing too good for the Irish.
You think I am Irish, but that's where you're wrong;
I am Scotch, but our love for the Irish is strong;
We gave them a saint and we'll give them a song;
For there's nothing too good for the Irish.
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