A stór mo chroí, when you’re far away, from the home you’ll soon be leaving;
For it's many's the time by night and by day, your heart will be sorely grieving.
For the stranger’s land may be bright and grand, and rich in its treasures golden.
You may pine, I know, for the long, long ago, and the love you’ll soon be leaving.

A stór mo chroí, in the stranger’s land there’ll be plenty of wealth and wailing;
Where the gems adorn the great and the grand, there’ll be faces with hunger paling.
Though the road may be tiresome and hard to tread, and the lights of the city may blind you;
Return a stór, to Erin’s shore, and the love you’re leaving behind you.

A stór mo chroí, when the evening mist on mountain and valley is falling,
Won’t you turn away, from the throng and the bliss, and maybe you’d hear me calling;
For the sound of a voice that you’ll surely miss, of somebody’s speedy returning,
Aroon, aroon, won’t you come back soon, to the love that is always burning.