She is calling, calling, calling
In the wind and o'er the tide.
We, her children hear her voices
Call us ever to her side.

With the engines 'neath us throbbing
And the wind upon our stern,
Little reck we of the distance
That divides us now from Erin
For we hear her voices calling
Sweeping past us on the West
Calling home to her the children
She once nourished on her breast.

O! Ye waters bear us onward
And ye winds your task fulfill
Till our Irish eyes we feast on
Irish vale and Irish hill
Till we tread our Irish Cities
See their glory and their shame,
And our eyes like skies o'er Erin,
Through their smiles shed tears of pain.

Glorious is the land were leaving
And its pride shall grow through years
And the land that calls us homewards
Can but share with us her tears
Yet our heart her call obeying
Heedless of the wealth men crave
Turneth home to share her sorrow
Where she weeps beside the wave.

She is calling, calling, calling
In the wind and o'er the tide.
We, her children hear her voices
Call us ever to her side

Written by James Connolly on his return to Ireland, 1909.

Draw over the "Call of Erin" album by The Young Wolfe Tones, 2016:

https://youtu.be/SBGTt8pzz98

Great artist: https://t.me/solidmae