I wish you health,
I wish you well, and happiness galore.
I wish you luck for you and friends;
what could I wish you more?
May your joys be as deep as the oceans,
your troubles as light as its foam.
And may you find, sweet peace of mind,
where ever you may roam.

AVOCA valley

There is not in the world a valley so sweet
As the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart
Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm I could rest
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best;
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease
And our hearts, like the waters, be mingled in peace.

THOMAS MOORE (1779 - 1852)

Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter
Lullabies, dreams and love ever after.
Poems and songs with pipes and drums
A thousand welcomes when anyone comes...
That's the Irish for you!

(Irish Blessing)

Three cheer for the Old Erin Isle:
Three cheer for the harp and flag of green
Three cheer for the Shamrock boys
And a kiss for the Irish Colleen

For each petal on the shamrock
This brings a wish your wayŚ
Good health, good luck, and happiness
For today and every day.

May your heart be warm and happy
With the lilt of Irish laughter
Every day in every way
And forever and ever after.

The Bard of Armagh

Oh list' to the tale of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the string of his old withered hands
But remember those fingers they once could move sharper
To raise up the strains of his dear native land.

It was long before the shamrock, dear isle's lovely emblem
Was crushed in its beauty by the Saxon's lion paw
And all the pretty colleens around me would gather
Call me their bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.

How I love to muse on the days of my boyhood
Though four score and three years have fled by them
It's king's sweet reflection that every young joy
For the merry-hearted boys make the best of old men.

At a fair or a wake I would twist my shillelah
And trip through a dance with my brogues tied with straw
There all the pretty maidens around me would gather
Call me their bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.

In truth I have wandered this wide world over
Yet Ireland's my home and a dwelling for me
And, oh, let the turf that my old bones shall cover
Be cut from the land that is trod by the free.

And when Sergeant Death in his cold arms doth embrace
And lull me to sleep with old Erin go bragh
By the side of my Kathleen, my dear pride, oh place me
Then forget Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.

My Other Holiday Pages

Christmas New Years Valentines
St. Patrick day Easter Mothers day
Thanksgiving Halloween Bobby Burns day

Facts and history of the Canadian 10 Provinces
and 3 Territories

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