Who is Ireland's enemy?
Not Germany, nor Spain,
Nor Russia, France nor Austria,
They forged for her no chain,
Nor quenched her hearths, nor razed her homes,
Nor laid her altars low,
Or sent her sons to tramp the hills,
Amidst the winter's snow.

Who spiked the heads of Irish priests,
On Dublin Castle's gate?
Who butchered helpless Irish kids,
A lust for blood to sate?
Who outraged Irish maidenhood,
And tortured aged sires,
And spread from Cork to Donegal,
The glare of midnight fires?

Who scourged our land in '98,
Spread torture far and wide,
Till Ireland cried in woe and pain,
And hell seemed fair beside?
Who plied the pitch-cap and the sword,
The gibbet and the rack?
Oh God! That we should ever fail,
To pay those devils back.

Who hung three down in Manchester,
One deary winter's dawn,
While round them howled in fury,
The Devil's hungery spawn?
Who shattered all those rebel minds,
In dungeons o'er the foam,
And broke the loyal Fenian hearts,
Who pined for them at home?

Who shot down Clark and Connolly,
And Pearse at dawn of day,
And Plunkett and MacDiarmada,
And all who died as they?
Who robbed us of MacSwiney brave,
Who murdered Mellows too,
Sent Barry to a martyrs grave,
And slaughtered Cathal Brugha?

Not Germany nor Austria,
Not Russia, France nor Spain,
That robbed and burned this land of ours,
And forged for us the chain,
But England of the wily words,
A crafty, treacherous foe,
Twas England scourged our Motherland,
Twas England laid her low!

Rise up, oh, dead of Ireland!
And rouse our living men,
The chance will come to us at last,
To win our own again,
To sweep the English enemy,
From hill and glen and bay,
And in your name, oh, Holy Dead,
Our sacred debt to pay!.