They took the title from his name
That paltry gift of Britain's hand
No soul or laurel beneath the flame
For him today in every land
They stood him on a gallows tree
With eyes blindfolded from the light
Nor saw down all those years to be
His soul, a soul of truth and light
They hanged him high in Pentonville
On coffin there his ashes lie
A mound of dust that may not thrill
To sun or shade or sea or sky
But somewhere far beyond our kin
O'er awful vistas yet unrolled
That dust shall spring to fighting men
As sprang the dragon's teeth of old
They murdered him in Pentonville
While howling mobs profaned the air
Like wolves who only dared to kill
When the whole pack is gathered there
But others of his country men
Melt into dust, for him who cried
"I give my life for Ireland then
God take my soul" before he died
God took his soul, God heard his cry
God gauged his reckoning, yea, and said
"Above the farthest reach of sky
Casement's immortal coronet"
God ranged his crying of sacrifice
His life was all he had to give
But there's his blood has paid our price
And died that Ireland's soul shall live
