At Boolavogue, as the sun was setting,
On bright May meadows of Shelmalier,
A rebel hand set the heather blazing,
And they brought the neighbours from far and near.

Then Father Murphy, from old Kilcormack,
Spurred up the rock, the warning cry,
"Arm! Arm!" he cried, "For I've come to lead you,
For Ireland's freedom we'll fight or die."

He led us on gainst the coming soldiers,
On the cowardly yeomen we put to flight,
Twas at the Harrow, the boys of Wexford,
Showed Bookey's regiment how men could fight.

Look out for hirelings, King George of England,
Search every kingdom where breathes a slave,
For Father Murphy from the county Wexford
Sweeps o'er the land like a mighty wave.

At Vinegar Hill, o'er the pleasant Slaney,
Our heroes vainly stood back to back,
And the yeos at Tullow took Father Murphy,
And they burned his body upon the rack.

God grant you glory, brave Father Murphy,
And open heaven to all your men,
For the cause that called you may call tomorrow,
In another fight for the green again.