'Tis for thee I will be pining, Tober Mhuire. Thou art deep and sweet and shining, Tober Mhuire. In the dimness I'll be dying, And my soul for thee is sighing With the blessings on thee lying— Tober Mhuire.

O thy cool, sweet waters dripping, Tober Mhuire, Now my sere lips would be sipping, Tober Mhuire. O my lips are sere and burning— For thy waters I'll be yearning, And yon road of no returning, Tober Mhuire.

O thy coolness and thy sweetness, Tober Mhuire. O thy sureness and completeness, Tober Mhuire. O this life I would be leaving, With the greyness of its grieving, And the deeps of its deceiving, Tober Mhuire.

I would sip thy waters holy, Tober Mhuire. While the drops of life drip slowly, Tober Mhuire— Till the wings of angel whiteness, With their softness and their lightness, Blind me, fold me, in their brightness— Tober Mhuire.