WHILE tyrants rule the land, br Beneath the Irish skies; br While e’er the iron hand br Upon our people lies; br While sons are driven forth br In other lands to dwell, br Still in the South and North br Old Ireland will rebel! br Rebel, rebel! br Old Ireland will rebel! br br While fanlike from below, br And pale against the skies, br That light of shame—the glow br Of burning homes—shall rise; br While hot indignant tears br From Irish hearts shall swell:— br Be it a thousand years, br Old Ireland will rebel! br Rebel, rebel! br Old Ireland will rebel! br br Until the tyrant’s rod br Shall broken be in twain, br And on the dear old sod br Blest freedom treads again; br Or till our masters learn br To rule our country well, br The fires of hate shall burn!— br Old Ireland will rebel! br Rebel, rebel! br Old Ireland will rebel!br br Henry Lawsonbr br