A Stor Mo Chroi, when you're far away
From the house that you'll soon be leaving,
Sure it's many a time by night and by day
That your heart will be sorely grieving.
For the stranger's land may be bright and fair,
And rich in all treasures golden.
You'll pine, I know, for the long, long ago
And the heart that is never olden.

A Stor Mo Chroi, in the stranger's land
There's plenty of wealth and wailing.
Though gems adorn the rich and grand
There are faces with hunger pailing.
The road may be weary, and hard to tread
And the lights of the city blind you.
Oh turn, A Stor, to old Erin's shore
And the ones you have left behind you.

A Stor Mo Chroi, when the evening's mist
In the mountain and meadow is falling,
Oh turn, A Stor, from the throng and list
And maybe you'll hear me calling.
For the sound of a voice that you seldom hear
For somebody's speedy returning.
Aroon, aroon, Oh, won't you come back soon
To the one who really loves you.

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