I wish you health, I wish you well, and happiness galore. I wish you luck for you and friends; what could I wish you more? May your joys be as deep as the oceans, your troubles as light as its foam. And may you find, sweet peace of mind, where ever you may roam. AVOCA valley There is not in the world a valley so sweet As the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm I could rest In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best; Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease And our hearts, like the waters, be mingled in peace. THOMAS MOORE (1779 - 1852) Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter Lullabies, dreams and love ever after. Poems and songs with pipes and drums A thousand welcomes when anyone comes... That's the Irish for you! (Irish Blessing) Three cheer for the Old Erin Isle: Three cheer for the harp and flag of green Three cheer for the Shamrock boys And a kiss for the Irish Colleen For each petal on the shamrock This brings a wish your way— Good health, good luck, and happiness For today and every day. May your heart be warm and happy With the lilt of Irish laughter Every day in every way And forever and ever after. The Bard of Armagh Oh list' to the tale of a poor Irish harper And scorn not the string of his old withered hands But remember those fingers they once could move sharper To raise up the strains of his dear native land. It was long before the shamrock, dear isle's lovely emblem Was crushed in its beauty by the Saxon's lion paw And all the pretty colleens around me would gather Call me their bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh. How I love to muse on the days of my boyhood Though four score and three years have fled by them It's king's sweet reflection that every young joy For the merry-hearted boys make the best of old men. At a fair or a wake I would twist my shillelah And trip through a dance with my brogues tied with straw There all the pretty maidens around me would gather Call me their bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh. In truth I have wandered this wide world over Yet Ireland's my home and a dwelling for me And, oh, let the turf that my old bones shall cover Be cut from the land that is trod by the free. And when Sergeant Death in his cold arms doth embrace And lull me to sleep with old Erin go bragh By the side of my Kathleen, my dear pride, oh place me Then forget Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh. My Other Holiday Pages Christmas New Years Valentines St. Patrick day Easter Mothers day Thanksgiving Halloween Bobby Burns day Facts and history of the Canadian 10 Provinces and 3 Territories Page 1: Page 2: Page 3: Page 4: Page 5: Page 6: Page 7: Page 8: Page 9: Page 12: Page 13: Page 14: Page 15: Page 16: Page 17: Page 18: Page 19: Page 20: Page 21: Page 22: Page 23: This page has been visited times.