There's a dear little plant that grows in our isle
'Twas St Patrick himself sure that set it
And the sun on his labour with pleasure did smile
And with dew from his eye often wet it
It shines thro' the bog, the brake and the mire-land
And he called it the dear little shamrock of Ireland

Chorus:
The dear little shamrock, the sweet little shamrock
The dear little, sweet shamrock of Ireland

That dear little plant still grows in our land
Fresh and fair as the daughters of Erin
Whose smiles can bewitch and whose eyes can command
In each climate they ever appear in
For they shine through the bog, through the brake, through the mire-land
Just like their own dear little shamrock

That dear little shamrock that srings from our soil
When its three little leaves are extended
Denotes from the stalk we together should toil
And ourselves by ourselves be befriended
And still through the bog, through the brake, through the mire-land
From one shoot should branch, like the shamrock of Ireland

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