The Little Pub In London

In a little pub in London, Moriarity drank his beer
And recited wondrous stories of his exploits far & near
"Sing an Irish Song" said Kelly, "best of order one & all"
Moriarity sang for them – The Hills of Donegal

There was cheering at the finish, they called, "Encore, Encore"
Moriarity said, "Listen lads, I can't sing anymore."
He stood there sad & silent & gazed into his beer
And in his eyes there glistened, the starting of the tear

"Are you going home for Christmas?" the kindly barmaid said
Moriarity fixed his gaze on her & slowly shook his head
"Sure I haven't been to Ireland now for twenty years or more
My Mother would hardly know me if I walked up to the door

"I was born", said Moriarity, "on an island in the West
The last place God created & the first one that he blessed
We were poor but we were happy in our simple little way
My God I wish I was a boy again, to live my youthful days
My father, God be good to him, was drowned one woeful night
And my mother left all lonesome, and myself to work and fight
"So with Donald Rua McCarthy & Michael Og O'Shea
I came across to England to earn & honest pay
I told my dear old Mother I'd soon be home again
But the curse of drink came o'er me & enslaved me in its chain

Sure I haven't been to Ireland now for twenty years or more
But I know she's still there waiting for my footsteps at the door,"
Then someone started singin' – See Amid the Winter Snow
Like an old bell ringin' far away & long ago

Moriarity stood and listened, then he pushed his glass away
And he made a solemn promise he'd go home for Christmas Day
So he scraped up every penny he could get into his hands
And coming up to Christmas he sailed for Ireland

His heart was filled with gladness he felt content at last
As that train rolled through the midlands & brought him to the west
In the village of Kinsheelan that night upon the shore
Far across the deep blue waters, he saw his island home once more

The stars they shone so brightly, how they glistened like a dome
On that little whitewashed cottage, that was Moriarity's home
"Tis a grand night for the sailin'" said the boatman, Thomas Bawn
Moriarity didn't know him, he'd been away so long

So they climbed into the baidin, and the boatman heard him say
"Thank God, Thank God in heaven, I'll be home for Christmas Day,"
In a little room in London, in Moriarity's poor abode
On a table in the hallway a message lay untold

The message, "Dear Danny, your poor Mother has passed away
She'll be buried in Kinsheelan after Mass on Christmas Day..."