The harvest moon is rising into the sky
And autumn's yellow sun is setting over the weir
The young bees hum amid the old brown leaves
In Gaoth Barra of the Woods, Gaoth Barra of the Waves

The young winter cattle come slowly down to the fold
And the sheep frolic at the approach of the night
The wandering stream laughs and shouts
In Gaoth Barra of the Woods, Gaoth Barra of the Waves

In the musical waters of the river lurks the salmon
And nearby the lark makes her nest
Come the birds of the flock, the starling and the blackbird
To your refuge unstinting Gaoth Barra of the Waves

I pray to St. Patrick and St. Conal
I ask but one boon at the end of my life
That my soul should reside among the brown leaves
That grow thick on your shores, Gaoth Barra of the Waves