Classic Poem

1

Give me three grains of corn, mother
Only three grains of corn.
'Twill keep what little life I have
Till the coming of the morn.

2

For I'm dying of hunger and cold, mother
Dying of hunger and cold,
And the agony of such a death
My lips have never told.

3

Oh, what has old Ireland done, mother,
Oh, what has old Ireland done,
That the world looks on and sees them starve,
Perishing one by one?

4

There is many a brave heart, mother,
That is dying of hunger and cold,
While only across the channel, mother,
Thousands are rolling their gold.

5

Oh, how can I look to you, mother,
Oh, how can I look to you
For bread to feed your starving child
When you are starving too?

6

For I read the famine on your cheek
And in your eyes so wild,
And I felt it in your bony hand
When you laid it on your child.

7

It has gnawed like a wolf at my heart, mother,
A wolf that was fierce for blood,
All the livelong day and the night beside,
Gnawing for lack of food.

8

I dreamed of bread in my sleep, mother,
The sight was heaven to see.
I awoke with an eager and famishing lip
And you had no bread for me.