You’re a stout lad from the big Scottish isle,
A future bishop without any guile;
Kidnappers take you away from your home,
Across a sea that ripples with white foam;
In Ireland you are made a poor slave,
Life is rough, though you try hard to be brave;
You draw close to God and He sets you free,
At last with your eyes your homeland you see;
You return to Ireland so smart, so wise,
And clearly reveal all the devil’s lies;
You pray “Christ on my left, Christ on my right,”
And you help the Irish find the true Light.