God bless the little orchard brown 
Where the sap stirs these quickening days. 
Soon in a white and rosy gown 
The trees will give great praise. 

God knows I have it in my mind, 
The white house with the golden eaves. 
God knows since it is left behind 
That something grieves and grieves. 

God keep the small house in his care, 
The garden bordered all in box, 
Where primulas and wallflowers are 
And crocuses in flocks. 

God keep the little rooms that ope 
One to another, swathed in green, 
Where honeysuckle lifts her cup 
With jessamine between. 

God bless the quiet old grey head 
That dreams beside the fire of me, 
And makes home there for me indeed 
Over the Irish Sea.