I'd like to sing a Rebel song,
which I'm very proud to be able to
in Ireland called James Larkin.
It's called The Rising of the Moon.
At the rising of the moon,
at the rising of the moon,
With your pike upon your shoulder,
at the rising of the moon,
And come tell me, Sean O 'Farrell,
Hush of the local, hush and listen,
and his cheeks were all aglow
I bear orders from the captain,
get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together
at the rising of the moon
At the rising of the moon,
at the rising of the moon,
All the pikes must be together
at the rising of the moon.
And come tell me, Sean O 'Farrell,
where the gathering is to be
At the old spot by the river,
quite well known to you and me.
One more word for signal, token,
whistle out the marching tune
With your pike upon your shoulder
and the rising of the moon
And the rising of the moon,
and the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder
and the rising of the moon
Out from many a mud -walled cabin
eyes were watching through the night
Many a manly heart was beating
for the blessed morning light
Murmurs rang along the valley
to the banshee's lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing
by the rising of the moon
By the rising of the moon,
by the rising of the moon
And a thousand lights are flashing
by the rising of the moon
All along the singing river
that black mass of men was seen
High above their shining weapons
flew their own beloved greed
Death to every foe and traitor,
whistle out the marching tune
And to Ramy, boys, for freedom,
tis the rising of the moon
Tis the rising of the moon,
tis the rising of the moon
And to Ramy, boys, for freedom,
tis the rising of the moon
