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As an Irish boy was leaving
Leaving his own native home,
Crossing the broad Atlantic waves,
Once more he wished to roam,
And as he was leaving his mother,
While standing on the Quay,
She threw her arms around his waist
And this to him did say:
A mother's love is a blessing,
No matter where you roam.
Keep her while she's living,
For you'll miss her when she's gone.
Love her as in childhood,
Now feeble, old and grey,
For you'll never miss your mother's love
'til she's buried beneath the clay.
And as the years grow onward,
He'll settle down in life,
He'll choose a nice young Irish girl,
And he'll take her for his wife.
And as the kids grow older,
They'll play up on his knee
Sure he'll teach them the very same lesson
That my mother sure taught to me:
No you'll never miss your mother's love
'til she's buried beneath the clay.