An old man weeps And a young man sorrows While a child is busy with his gladness. The old shall cheer And the young shall battle,-- The child shall tremble for their gladness. O Victory How fair thou comest, Young though the ages are thy raiment! Thy song of death How sweet thou singest, Coming in that splendour of thy raiment! All flaming thou In grandeur of the Fianna Or crowned with the memory of Tara! In the fame of Kings, In the might of chieftains, Bound in the memory of Tara! Sweet little child To thee the victory-- Thou shalt be now as the Fianna! For thee the feast, For thee the lime-white mansions, And the hounds on the hills of Fianna!
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