I-ve lit the Christmas candle,
As we used to long ago
When it shone through cabin windows
On Holly-hedge and snow.
In this fine new house they-ve built me
That is furnished rich and fair-
But I-m hearing now the breakers rolling round the cliffs of Moher,
And my heart is aching, aching for a breath of Irish air.

The wren boys on St. Stephen-s Day.
Went singin- up and down
With their poor dead wren and thorn bush,
I heard them through the town.
But to-night down lighted city streets,
I hear the distant band,
And when-er they play -our own- hymns or tune of dear old Ireland,
The poor old foolish heart of me is in another land.

-Twas a lonely hillside chapel,
Where we tramped to midnight Mass,
With the flaring lights we carried
Throwing shadows on the grass.
But to-night my boy will drive me
In his grand new limousine,
And he-ll wrap my furs around me, proudly caring for his Mother,
And I-ll ride to the Cathedral just as grand as any queen.

Ah! No, I-m not repinin-,
And I love this wide new land,
And I-m proud to see the childer
Growin- prosperous and grand,
But roots strike deep in Irish soil,
Old memories are sweet,
And to-night my heart is yearnin- for the cabin I was born in,
And I smell the reek of turf-smoke driftin- up the city streets.