Page:Songs of the Road Doyle.djvu/16

4 And, dear old Ireland, God save you,

And heal the wounds of old,

For every grief you ever knew

May joy come fifty-fold!

Set Thy guard over us,

May Thy shield cover us,

Enfold and uphold us

On land and on sea!

From the palm to the pine,

From the snow to the line,

Brothers together

And children of Thee.

Thy blessing, Lord, on Canada,

Young giant of the West,

Still upward lay her broadening way,

And may her feet be blessed!