O ye brown bogs of Galway, did you take him to your breast?
Our Sagart young and holy, did you give him welcome rest?
Like Christ, he loved his little flock and tended them with care;
Like Christ he died that they be saved- his life was all a prayer.
Within the Church long hours he spent, where fragrant mem'ries cling,
Beside his Lord in converse sweet, his Sacramental King.
His priestly hands were ever raised in blessings kind and good
The children loved to hear his voice, their ways he understood
As down along the streets he walked, they pattered where he went.
For poor and old he had a word, that brought their hearts content
The quiet ways of life were his, a gentlepriest was he.
Who followed in Christs footsteps in his sacred ministry