("A Stór Mo Chroí" is Irish and means approximately "darling of my heart.") A Stór Mo Chroí, when you're far away From the home that you'll soon be leaving, It's many time by night and day That your heart will be sorely grieving. The stranger's land may be bright and fair, And rich in its treasures golden. But you'll pine, I know, for the long, long ago And the love that was never olden. A Stór Mo Chroí, in the stranger's land There is plenty of weeping and wailing. Where gems adorn the great and the grand There are faces with hunger pailing. Though the road is toilsome, and hard to tread Where the lights of their cities blind you. Oh turn a stór to Erin's shore And the one that you leave behind you. A Stór Mo Chroí, in the evening's mist Over mountain and sea is falling, Then turn away from the throng and list And maybe you'll hear me calling. For the sound of a voice that you surely miss For somebody's speedy returning. A ruin, a ruin, oh won't you come back soon To the love that is always burning.