There's a dear little plant that grows in our isle,
'Twas St.Patrick himself, sure, that sets it;
And the sun of his labour with pleasure did smile,
And with dew from his eye often wet it.
It grows through the bog, through the brake,
through the mireland,
And they call it the dear little Shamrock of Ireland.

- An Irish Blessing.
Traditional Poems,
Songs, Lyrics - midi- sequence
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St Patrick's Day
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