The moon, it shone down on Dublin Town,
And the deadly fight was o'er,
Thousands lay on the cold, cold ground,
Their lives to play no more,
The moon, it shone down in O'Connell Street,
Where a dying young rebel lay,
With his body gashed and his arms outstretched,
And his life's blood flowing away.

A passing comrade soon heard the moans,
The sufferer soon was found,
Softly, gently, they raised his head,
Up from the cold, cold ground,
Softly, gently, "Comrades!", he cried,
"No longer on earth can I stay,
I will never go home to my own native home,
In Tipperary, so far away."

"A lock of my hair, I pray ye take,
To my mother so dear to me,
And tell her twas here by the Liffey side,
My mouldering bones do lay,
For it would grieve your heart to see young men shot down,
Their bodies thrown into the sea
And a vision of light came before me tonight,
Of Tipperary so far away."

The soldiers of Ireland bore him on high,
On the shoulders with solemn dread,
And manys a heart with tearful sigh,
Wept over our patriot dead,
In silence they lowered him in the grave,
To rest till the reckoning day,
Seán Treacy who died his home to save,
In Tipperary so far away.