The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you will find him.
His father's sword he has girded on
And his wild harp slung behind him.
"Land of Song", said the warrior bard,
"Though all the world betray thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard
One harp, at least, shall praise thee."
The minstrel fell but the foeman's chains
Could not bring that proud soul under.
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder.
And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery.
Thy songs were meant for the proud and free
They shall never sound in slavery."
The minstrel boy shall return again,
When we hear the news we shall cheer it.
The minstrel boy shall return again,
Torn perhaps in body, not in spirit.
And then may he play his harp in peace,
In a world as heaven has intended.
When all the works of war shall cease,
And every battle must be ended.
