I've been away from Ireland now for nearly 50 years.
And thoughts of home are still dear to me.
Often I gaze across
the ocean and my eyes grow dim with tears,
Let me tell you of the vision that I've seen.
As a babe, a child I stood there when the summer sun did shine,
Across the steep lough, that little church down
there,
As we gathered every evening while the weather would be fine,
Around the chapel gates in Corraclare.
So in dreams I love to ramble down the village street,
And meet the boys and girls gathered there,
For to sing
the good old songs, telling of old Ireland's wrong,
Around the chapel gates in Corraclare.
There were weddings planned and matches made and stories old and new,
Around amoung the boys that gathered,
And
we played the football matches 'till the final whistle blew,
Around the chapel gates in Corraclare.
We would talk about the neighbours, the weather and the times,
And who the boys were courting on the sly.
We
would watch collin's passing down, and bid them the time of day.
And perhaps we'd catch a twinkle in their eye.
So in dreams I loved to ramble down the village street,
And meet the boys and girls gathered there,
For to
sing the good old songs telling of old Ireland's wrong,
Around the chapel gates at Corraclare.
Now I'm growing old and weary in this land so far away.
But I'll return to Ireland yet if God will spare.
And
when all is done they'll lay me, at the closing of my day.
Inside the chapel gates in Corraclare.
