Rug an ceo barróg ar an lá
Géaga na gcrann ag dul as
Bímid ár síorthástáil
Ag Do ghrá gan chompás
Ní fios na haoiseanna a d’imigh
Cloistear an snagcheol arís—i gcogar—
Do ghal gréine
Mist embraced the day
Branches of trees disappearing
We are constantly tested
By Your love that knows no compass
Countless ages went by
Your jazz is heard whispering again
A sunburst