Give Ireland Back To The Irish

Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Great britian you are tremendous
And nobody knows like me
But really what are you doin
In the land across the sea
Tell me how would you like it
If on your way to work
You were stopped by irish soliders
Would you lie down do nothing
Would you give in, or go berserk
Give ireland back to the irish
Dont make them have to take it away
Give ireland back to the irish
Make ireland irish today
Great britian and all the people
Say that all people must be free
Meanwhile back in ireland

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song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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As Ireland Wore the Green

BY RIGHT of birth in southern land I send my warning forth.
I see my country ruined by the wrongs that damned the North.
And shall I stand with fireless eyes and still and silent mouth
While Mammon builds his Londons on the fair fields of the South?

CHORUS:
O must we hide our colour
In fear of Mammon’s spleen?
Or shall we wear the bonnie blue
As Ireland wore the green?
As Ireland wore the green, my friends!
As Ireland wore the green!
Aye, we will wear our colour still,
As Ireland wore the green!

I see the shade of poverty fall on each sunny scene.
And slums and alley-ways extend where fields were evergreen.
There is a law that stamps the flower of freedom as it springs;
And this upon a soil that’s trod by prouder feet than kings’.

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poem by Henry Lawson
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Ireland, Ireland

Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
Down thy valleys green and sad,
Still thy spirit wanders wailing,
Wanders wailing, wanders mad.

Long ago that anguish took thee,
Ireland, Ireland, green and fair,
Spoilers strong in darkness took thee,
Broke thy heart and left thee there.

Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
Still thy spirit wanders mad;
All too late they love that wronged thee,
Ireland, Ireland, green and sad.

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Our Fathers Gave Us Celtic

Our ancestors came from Ireland
Who brought their pride and their faith,
They gathered as one at Celtic park
To express their cultural identity.

Our father’s gave us Celtic
And the songs we sing today,
Our Irish heritage we celebrate
When watching the Bhoys in green play.

The Celtic jersey was worn by icons
Who played with heart and soul,
Diehards for the Celtic cause,
Entertainers, who brought us goals.

We stood through miserable Scottish weather
Suffering the defeat of a Rangers game,
But our spirits stayed strong as we chanted loud
In praise of Celtic’s name.

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poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Ireland sober is Ireland stiff.

quote by James Joyce
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The Jungle Bhoys

On the terracing at Parkhead we gather
Watching the Bhoys in green play,
we’ll sing you a song of the Celtic
And of the players who played down Parkhead’s way.

Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
We’re the sound of the Paradise voice
Our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys

We’ve grown in our years with the Celtic
Raised on the history and pride
Wishing we could play for the Celtic
And wear the jersey of the old green & white

Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
We’re the sound of the Paradise voice
Our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead

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poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Celtic Ray

When lewellyn comes around
And he goes through market town
Youll be on the celtic ray
Are you ready?
When mcmannus comes around
On his early morning rounds
Crying hey...
Youll be on the celtic ray
Ireland, scotland, england and wales
I can hear the mothers voices calling
Children, children, children
When the coal brick man comes round
On a cold november day
Youll be on the celtic ray
Are you ready? are you ready?
Ireland, scotland, england and wales
I can hear the mothers voices calling
Children, children, children
Listen to me! I want to go home.
Listen to me! I want to go home.

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song performed by Van Morrison
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The Birth of Celtic

In eighteen hundred and eighty-eight
Brother Walfrid walked along the Gallowgate,
Were immigrants of Ireland walked the streets,
No food in their stomachs, no shoes on their feet.

These souls of the famished Irish nation
Had made their home in Glasgow’s east end,
Ridiculed & provoked by the Protestant majority
Who could not accept the Irish faith & identity.

In Scotland’s east coast, Edinburgh, the capital,
Had saw the rise in the game of football,
Where a team, Hibernian, played under Ireland’s harp,
And brought victory with them onto the park.

And Brother Walfrid, a Marist priest,
Saw poverty prosper in his parish,
He suggested a savior to the Irish nationalist
Who had never seen a ball been kicked on a pitch.

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poem by Daniel McDonagh
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I Am Of Ireland

'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity,
Come dance with me in Ireland.'

One man, one man alone
In that outlandish gear,
One solitary man
Of all that rambled there
Had turned his stately head.
That is a long way off,
And time runs on,' he said,
'And the night grows rough.'

'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland.'

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poem by William Butler Yeats
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Brother Walfrid Stands by Parkhead's Gates

The Celtic songs filled heaven's sky
and we marched along the Gallowgate
Joined by comrades, brothers and sisters,
As Brother Walfrid stood by Parkhead's gates.

The Celtic passion is such devotion,
Heritage, culture and our faith,
Our father’s father bore the tradition,
While Brother Walfrid stood by Parkhead's gates.

In the Garngad, from the parish of St.Roch’s,
Ireland’s sons and daughters would pray,
From the Royston Road, we would find our spiritual home
As Brother Walfrid’s soul welcomed us through Parkhead’s gates.

Our Irish inheritance we will cradle,
With the Glasgow Celtic, we will celebrate,
On the Holy Ground will play heroes & legends,
Blessed by Brother Walfrid who stands by Parkhead's gates.

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poem by Daniel McDonagh
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The land of Ireland for the people of Ireland.

quote by James Larkin
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The Irish Guards

1918

We're not so old in the Army List,
But we're not so young at our trade,
For we had the honour at Fontenoy
Of meeting the Guards' Brigade.
'Twas Lally, Dillon, Bulkeley, Clare,
And Lee that led us then,
And after a hundred and seventy years
We're fighting for France again!
Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,
Head to fhe sform as they faced if before !
For where there are Irish there's bound to be fighting,
And when there's no fighting, it's Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!

The fashion's all for khaki now,
But once through France we went
Full-dressed in scarlet Army cloth,

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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With a Celtic Scarf around My Neck

Hail Hail to all the Celtic fans
I see you are in good voice
Let us stand within McConnell's pub
And sing and drink to the Bhoys
For we were born and it's in our blood
To follow the bhoys in green
For the Glasgow Celtic are the finest team
The world has ever seen.

It was many years ago when our fore-fathers
Left their native home
As they said goodbye to Donegal,
To Limerick and Tyrone
They fled the English landlords
And the famine that scoured their land
They crossed the sea to Glasgow town
With Ireland’s cross in their hand.

To Jock Stein and the Lisbon Lions
Our fathers would raise a cheer,

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poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Amhán Na bhFiann

Ireland’s National Anthem
Has been branded a sectarian song,
As it’s sang on Parkhead’s terracing
By Celtic’s faithful sons,
Can we celebrate at Celtic Park
The heritage of our ancestors?
Or are we to be silenced by the critics
For heralding our Irish culture?

2005

poem by Daniel McDonagh
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If You're Lucky Enough To Be Irish

If you're lucky enough to be Irish
Then you're lucky enough they say.
I count my Irish blessings,
As I breathe the air each day.
When I'm somewhere o'er the water
Not walking Erin's shore,
I know my resting place will be
In Ireland for evermore.
I have Irish songs on my lips,
And Irish blood in my veins,
So I tell you I'm lucky to be Irish,
And I'll keep telling you over again.
I'm lucky enough to be Irish.
My children who walk by my side,
Will I hope, too feel the calling,
And someday walk Erin's fields wide.

poem by Rosi Caswell
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Ireland Shall Rebel

WHILE tyrants rule the land,
Beneath the Irish skies;
While e’er the iron hand
Upon our people lies;
While sons are driven forth
In other lands to dwell,
Still in the South and North
Old Ireland will rebel!
Rebel, rebel!
Old Ireland will rebel!

While fanlike from below,
And pale against the skies,
That light of shame—the glow
Of burning homes—shall rise;
While hot indignant tears
From Irish hearts shall swell:—
Be it a thousand years,
Old Ireland will rebel!
Rebel, rebel!

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poem by Henry Lawson
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How She Went To Ireland

Dora’s gone to Ireland
Through the sleet and snow;
Promptly she has gone there
In a ship, although
Why she’s gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.

That was where, yea, Ireland,
Dora wished to be:
When she felt, in lone times,
Shoots of misery,
Often there, in Ireland,
Dora wished to be.

Hence she’s gone to Ireland,
Since she meant to go,
Through the drift and darkness
Onward labouring, though
That she’s gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.

poem by Thomas Hardy
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When the Irish Flag Went By

’Twas Eight-Hour Day, and proudly
Old Labour led the way;
The drums were bearing loudly,
The crowded streets were gay;
But something touched my heart like pain,
I could not check the sigh
That rose within my bosom when
The Irish Flag went by.

Bright flags were raised about it
And one of them my own:
And patriots trod beneath it—
But it seemed all alone.
I thought of ruined Ireland
While crystals from the sky
Fell soft like tears by angels shed,
As the Irish Flag went by.

I love the dark green standard
As Irish patriots do;

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poem by Henry Lawson
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The Flag Issue at Parkhead in the Fifties

In Scotland in the fifties,
In football terms,
Protest was a blaze
From the grumpy old chairmen,
They took to a cause
That never since has died;
The flying of Ireland’s flag
Over Parkhead’s sky.

So bold Robert Kelly,
Born to Celtic’s dynasty,
Acted upon his heart
And wrote himself into history,
He sat at his desk
With pen in hand,
And wrote a letter, for a favour,
From the Irish PM.

“Dear Mr.DeValera,
How have you been?

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poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Ireland

O WE have loved you through cold and rain
And pitiless frost,
Consuming our offering of blood and brain
Gladly again and again and again,
Though it all seemed lost,
Ireland, Ireland!
O we will fight, fight on for you till
Your anguish is past,
The wronged ones righted, the tyrants still. —
Though God has not saved you, yet we will,
At the last, at the last,
Ireland, Ireland!
O we will love you in warmth and light
And the happy day,
When you have forgotten the terrible night,
Standing proud and beautiful bright
For ever and aye,
Ireland, Ireland!

poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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