The night was dark and the fight was ended,
The moon shone down O'Connell Street,
I stood alone where brave men perished,
They're gone, they're gone, their God to meet.

The first I met was a dying rebel,
Bending low, I heard him say,
"God bless my home in dear Cork City,
God bless the cause for which I die."

The next I met was a fair-haired maiden,
Kneeling by her lover's side,
She prayed to God, her heavenly father,
That in his footsteps that he might climb.

The next I met was a grey-haired father,
Searching for his only son,
I said, "My man, there's no use searching,
For up to heaven your son has gone."

My only son was shot in Dublin,
Fighting for his country bold,
He fought for Ireland and Ireland's glory,
The harp, the shamrock, green white and gold.