In Ireland wellies sell and wells are holy:
our names are legion in the roll of honour.
We have a singing priest (Sinead O'Connor),
and though we didn't think of ravioli,
we DID produce an extra-special goalie,
the legendary hero Packie Bonner,
renowned as Glasgow Celtic's Number Oner.
We're not restricted to our frontiers, solely:
the land of Stradivarius and Stromboli
embraced one of the lads, and did so wholly!
(The place is EM-poli, and not Em-PO-li:
you'll find it easy if you say it slowly.)
The Church of Rome, today, would be so lowly
if not for San Donato, our boy Donagh.
to due to reframe
to speak the latter first
than which is spoken
sung and rehearsed
than which of most
to be discovered
the God of many
is the God of others
Those worlds of the selfish
to then be uncovered
who's works makesth thee
sweat and perspire
toils of the worker
like songs of a choir
There is a balm in Gilead
the perfume for many
speak to the merchant
to find the remedy
nearest to Naples
the Vesuvius Mount
areas of eruptions
severe the mount
yet in peace time
upon Caesar's trill
songs sung to Jesus
he loves me still
There is a Balm in Gilead
who's aroma is such
the medicine to cure
the value so much