ST PATRICK’S DAY 1902 
 
Written at Delhi. 
 
O GOOD St Patrick, turn again 
Thy mild eyes to the Western main ! 
Shalt thou be silent ?  thou forget ? 
Are there no snakes in Ireland yet ? 
 
Death to the Saxon !  Slay nor spare ! 
O God of Justice, hear us swear ! 
 
The iron Saxon’s bloody hand 
Metes out his murder on the land. 
The light of Erin is forlorn. 
The country fades :  the people mourn. 
 
Of land bereft, of right beguiled, 
Starved, tortured, murdered, or exiled ; 
Of freedom robbed, of faith cajoled, 
In secret councils bought and sold ! 
 
Their weapons are the cell, the law, 
The gallows, and the scourge, to awe 
Brave Irish hearts :  their hates deny 
The right to live—the right to die. 
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