God bless the gray mountains of dark Donegal
God bless the Royal Aileach, the pride of them all
For she sits evermore like a Queen on her throne
And smiles on the valleys of Green Inishowen
And fair are the valleys of Green Inishowen
And hardly the fishers that call them their own
A race that no traitor nor coward has known
Enjoy the fair valleys of Green Inishowen

O, simple and bold are the bosoms they bear
Like the hills that with silence and nature, they share
For our God who hath planted their home near his own
Breathed his spirit abroad upon fair Inishowen
Then praise to our Father for wild Inishowen
Where fiercely forever the surges are thrown
Now weather nor fortune, a tempest hath blown
Could shake the strong bosoms of brave Inishowen

See the bountiful Couldah careering along
A type of their manhood, so stately and strong
On the weary forever, its tide is bestown
So they share with the stranger in fair Inishowen
God guard the kind homesteads of fair Inishowen
Which manhood and virtue have chosen for their own
Not long shall that nation in slavery grown
That reads the tall peasants of fair Inishowen

Lie that oak of St. Bride which no Devil nor Dane
Nor Saxon nor Dutchman could rend from her fame
They have clung by the cred and the cause of their own
That rears the tall peasants of fair Inishowen
Then shout for the glories of old Inishowen
The stronghold that foemen have never o’erthrown
The soul and the spirit, the blood and the bone
That guard the green valleys of true Inishowen

Nor purer of old was the tongue of the Gael
When the charging ‘aboo’ made the foreigner quail
Than it gladdens the stranger in welcome’s soft tone
In the home-loving cabins of kind Inishowen
Oh flourish, ye homesteads of kind Inishowen
Where seeds of a people’s redemption are sown
Right soon shall the fruit of that sowing have grown
To bless the kind homesteads of green Inishowen

When they tell us the tale of a spell-stricken band
All entranced, with their bridles and broadswords in hand
Who await but the word to give Erin her own
Through the midnight of danger in true Inishowen
Hurrah for the Spaemen of proud Inishowen
Long live the wild Seers of proud Inishowen
May Mary, our mother be deaf to their moan
Who love not the promise of proud Inishowen


Written by Charles Gavan Duffy

Song Clip