To Hell or to Connaught
was Cromwell's War Cry
and the West, say the poet
in slumber do lie.
From Mayo, God help us, they cried long ago
for you suffered in silence the hate of the foe.
You were born in the county of Green and the Red
where millions of people from famine they fled.
And you felt the pains of a people so proud,
you've seen the neglect of the traitor and coward.
(chorus in Gaelic)
For just like the priest at the Mass rock of old,
who braved Redcoats and hunger and famine and cold,
your cause although different, objective the same, you remembered your country, and true to your name.
And the very same people were there by your side,
who stood on the hill or some bleak mountainside,
who guarded the vestments of faith long ago,
will stand now on guard, above and below.
(Chorus in Gaelic)
In the County Mayo there's a beautiful shrine, and it's called Connaught (?), with powers divine.
It's the seat of a Queen who reigns from above,
and is looked on in Ireland with affection and love.
For the village of Knock with its beauty serene
is set in the country of emerald green.
And Monsignor Horan can hold your head high,
you put down the concrete, brought planes from the sky.
(Chorus in Gaelic)
The Lady of Knock is the might of the West,
appeared on the spot which St. Patrick he blessed.
Bring people from lands that are far, far away,
to come to your altar, to kneel and to pray.
For Knock it was chosen by a power supreme,
and God he has placed you in some divine scheme.
And Monsignor Horan can hold your head high,
you put down the concrete, brought planes from the sky.
(Chorus in Gaelic)
