There’s a dear little plant that grows in our isle
There’s a dear little plant that grows in our isle,
‘Twas St. Patrick himself, sure, that sets it;
And the sun of his labor with pleasure did smile,
And with dew from his eye often wet it.
It grows through the bog, through the brake, through the mireland,
And they call it the dear little Shamrock of Ireland.

(6 votes, average: 4.67 out of 5)
on October 22nd, 2009 at 5:46 pm
I sang this in a St Patrick’s Day play while in the 1st grade in 1957. It was a lovely song that I never forgot!