OOPS 02 The Foggy Dew 
                      Father Charles O'Neill

As down the glen one Easter morn,
To a city fair rode I 
There armed lines of marching men 
In squadrons passed me by 
No pipes did hum no battle drum, 
Did sound its loud tattoo 
But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey swell, 
Rang out in the foggy dew. 

Right proudly high in Dublin town 
They flung out a flag of war. 
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky 
Than at Suvla or Sud El Bar; 
And from the plains of Royal Meath 
Strong men came hurrying through 
While Britannia's Huns with their great big guns, 
Sailed in through the foggy dew. 

O the night fell black and the rifles' crack 
Made "perfidious Albion" reel
'Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame 
Did shine o'er the lines of steel; 
By each shining blade, a prayer was said 
That to Ireland her sons be true 
And when morning broke still the war flag shook 
Out its fold in the foggy dew. 

'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go 
That small nations might be free. 
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves 
Or the fringe of the Great North Sea 
O had they died by Pearse's side, 
Or fought with Cathal Brugha 
Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 
'Neath the shroud of the Foggy Dew. 

But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell 
Rang mournfully and clear 
For those who died that water tide
In the springtime of the year 
While the world did gaze, 
With deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few 
Who bore the fight that freedom's light 
Might shine through the foggy dew. 

Ah, back through the glen I rode again, 
And my heart with grief was sore 
For I parted then with valiant men 
Whom I never shall see more 
But to and from in my dreams I go 
And I'd kneel and pray for you 
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, 
When you fell in the foggy dew. 

Performer Thorvald Grimsson
                   Zenovia