Lyrics:

In Bodenstown churchyard there is a green grave
And wildly around it the winter winds rave;
Small shelter I ween are the ruined walls there
When the storm sweeps down on the plains of Kildare
Once I lay on that sod it lies over Wolfe Tone
And thought how he perished in prison alone
His friends unavenged and his country unfreed
'Oh, bitter,' I said, 'is the patriots meed

'For in him the heart of a woman combined
With heroic spirit and a governing mind
A martyr for Ireland, his grave has no stone
His name sheldom named, and his virtues unknown.'
I was woke from my dream by the voices and tread
Of a band who came into the home of the dead;
They carried no corpse, and they carried no stone
And they stopped when they came to the grave of Wolfe Tone

There were students and peasants, the wise and the brave
And an old man who knew him from cradle to grave
And children who thought me hard-hearted, for they
On that sanctified sod were forbidden to play
But the old man, who saw I was mourning there, said:
'We come, sir, to weep where young Wolfe Tone is laid
And we're going to raise him a monument, too
A plain one, yet fit for the loyal and true.'

My heart overflowed, and I clasped his old hand
And I blessed him, and blessed every one of his band:
'Sweet, sweet tis to find that such faith can remain
In the cause and the man so long vanquished and slain.'
In Bodenstown churchyard there is a green grave
And freely around it let winter winds rave
Far better they suit him the ruin and gloom
Till Ireland, a nation, can build him a tomb