Before you edit: All changes are checked by a moderator before being published to the site and could take a few days.
Is iad na prátaí dubha a dhein ár gcomharsana do scaipeadh orainn,Do chuir ins na poorhouse iad ’s anonn thar na farraigí, I Reilig an tSléibhe atá na céadta acu treascartha, Is uaisle na bhflaitheas go ngabhair a bpáirt.
A Dhia na Glóire, fóir is freagair sinn, Scaoil ár nglasa agus réidh ár gcás, Ar an bheatha seo arís ó do chroí go gcasair orainn Is na poorhouse go leagair anuas ar lár.
Más mar gheall ar an bpeaca claon a tháinig an chéim seo eadrainn, Oscail bhur gcroí agus díbir an ghangaid as, Lig braon de d’fhíorsprid arís chun ár gcneasaithe, Is uaisle na bhflaitheas go réidhe ár gcás.
Tá na bochta so in Éirinn ag plé leis an ainnise, Buairt agus anacair is pianta báis, Leanaí bochta ag béiceadh is ag screadanaíl gach maidin, Ocras fada is gan dada le fáil.
Ní hé Dia a cheap riamh an obair seo, Daoine bochta a chur le fuacht is le fán, Is a chur ins na poorhouse go dubhach is glas orthu Ag feall ar bhochta Dé nár thug riamh dóibh saibhreas ach ag síorobair dóibh ó aois go bás.
A Rí na Trua is a Uain Ghil bheannaithe, Fuascail ar an ainnise athá inár gcrá, Ná lig ar strae uait féin an t-anam bocht Is a fheabhas ’s a cheannaigh tú é sa Pháis.
Beidh Rí na Glóire fós ag freagairt dóibh, ’S an Mhaighdean chumhachtach go humhal á nglacadh isteach, Beidh an dá aspal déag ag déanamh dóibh caradais, Sin stór ná beidh caite acu go Lá an Bhrátha.
Black potatoes are made ??by our neighbors to spread us, sent in the poorhouse them and back across the seas, in the Mountain Cemetery are hundreds of them subversion, a nobility of heaven to be part goats.
God of Glory, the answer we bear, untie our nglasa and ready our case, on the life of your heart again that we gcasair is the poorhouse that past leagair center.
If given the perverse sin came between us this step, Open your hearts and Refuse spite of, Let drops of your fhíorsprid again to our gcneasaithe, is smooth and gentlemen of heaven that our case.
The poor have this in Ireland dealing with the misery, Grief and distress the pains of death, children are shouting at poor screadanaíl every morning, Hungry long without getting anything.
It is not God ever thought this work, Poor people to cold and wandering, is to be in the poorhouse to depression locked Having betrayed poor God has not ever to wealth but síorobair them from age to death.
King of the Lamb Whitechurch Pity blessed, redeemed on the misery rehearing in distress, Do not stray from you the poor soul is brilliant and you bought it in the Passion.
King of Glory will still respond, and the powerful Virgin humbly being taken in, will be the twelve apostles making them friendship, That store is not spent to the Judgment Day.
SongsInIrish.com is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com or amazon.co.uk.