A Stór A Stór

A Stór mo Chroí, traditional after Karen Casey

A Stór mo Chroí, when you're far away
From the home you will soon be leavin,
Sure it's manys the time by night and day
Your heart will sorely be grievin.
Though the stranger's land is rich and fair,
And has riches and treasures golden,
You pine, I know, for the land, long ago
And the heart that's never olden.

A Stór mo Chroí, in the stranger's land
There is plenty of wealth and earnins.
Sultan gems adorn the rich and grand,
but their faces are pulled and tearin'.
For the road it is weary and hard to tread,
And the lights of the city do blind you;
Oh turn, A Stór, to Éirinn's shore
And the ones you left behind you.

A Stór mo Chroí, when the evenin sun
on mountain and meadow is fallin,
won't you turn away from the throng and sounds,
And maybe you'll hear me callin.
For the voice you hear is surely mine
after somebody's speedy returnin.
Aroon, aroon, won't you come home soon
To the ones who'll always love you.