A stór mo chroí, when you’re far away, from the home you’ll soon be leaving;
’Tis many a time by night and by day, that your heart will be sorely grieving.
For the stranger land may be bright and fair, and rich in its treasure golden,
You’ll pine, I know, for the long, long ago, and the heart that is never olden.

A stór mo chroí, in the stranger’s land, there is plenty of wealth and wailing;
While the gems adorn the great and the grand, there are faces with the hunger paling.
Though the road may be dreary and hard to tread, and the lights of their cities blinding;
You’ll turn a stór, to Erin’s shore, and the one you are leaving behind you.

A stór mo chroí, when the evening’s mist, over mountains and meadows are falling,
Won’t you turn away, from the strong (throng) and bliss, and ‘tis maybe you’ll hear me calling;
Or the sound of a voice that is surely mine, or somebody’s speedy returning,
Aroon, aroon, won’t you come back soon, to the one that will always love you.