I bear nepenthé from distant Aidenn

From a dim far land in the west

To soothe the sorrow, the pain to deaden

Of the stricken and oppressed —

Come unto me, ye heavy laden

And I will give you rest.

Ah where is the balm from distant Aidenn

From the dim far land in the west

Ah give us nepenthé our pain to deaden

We are stricken and oppressed

Our souls with sorrow are sorely laden

And our hearts have craved for rest.