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O Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen and down the mountainside.
The summer's gone and all the roses falling.
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,
Or all the valley's hushed and white with snow.
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow.
O Danny Boy, O Danny Boy, I love you so.

When winter's come and all the flow'rs are dying,
And I am dead, as dead I well may be,
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

But I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And all my grave shall warmer, sweeter be.
And you will bend and tell me that you love me;
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.

O Danny Boy, the stream flows cool and slowly;
And pipes still call and echo 'cross the glen.
Your broken mother sighs and feels so lowly,
For you have not returned to smile again.

So if you've died and crossed the stream before us,
We pray that angels met you on the shore;
And you'll look down, and gently you'll implore us
To live so we may see your smiling face once more.

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