THE SHAMROCK
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There's a dear little plant that grows in our
isle 'Twas Saint Patrick himself sure that set
it And the sun on his labor with pleasure did
smile And a tear from his eyes oft-times wet
it It grows through the bog, through the brake,
through the mireland And they call it the dear
little Shamrock of Ireland.
THE LEPRECHAUN
Near a misty stream in Ireland in the hollow of a
tree Live mystical, magical leprechauns who are
clever as can be With their pointed ears, and
turned up toes and little coats of green The
leprechauns busily make their shoes and try hard
not to be seen. Only those who really believe
have seen these little elves And if we are all
believers We can surely see for ourselves.
