Shall My Soul Pass Through Old Ireland
In a dreary Brixton prison where an Irish rebel lay
By his side a priest was standing ere his soul should pass away
And he faintly murmured father as he clasped him by the hand
Tell me this before I die shall my soul pass through Ireland

Shall my soul pass through old Ireland pass through Cork city grand
Shall I see that old cathedral where Saint Patrick took his stand
Shall I see that little chapel where I placed my heart in hand
Father tell me ere I die shall my soul pass through Ireland

'Twas for loving dear old Ireland in this prison cell I lie
'Twas for loving dear old Ireland in this foreign land I die
Will you meet my little daughter will you make her understand
But Father tell me ere I die shall my soul pass through Ireland

With his heart pure as a lily and his body sanctified
In that dreary British prison our brave Irish rebel died
Prayed the priest that wish be granted as in blessing raised his hand
Father grant this brave man's prayer may his soul pass through Ireland
Oh, may his soul pass through Ireland
  The Legend of the Irish Rebel
In a dreary Bristol prison where an Irish rebel lay
By his side a priest standing ere his soul should pass away
And he faintly murmured father as he clutched him by the hand
Oh father, tell me truly, shall my soul pass through Ireland

Shall my soul pass through old Ireland pass through Cork city grand
Will I see that great cathedral where Saint Patrick took his stand
Will I see that little chapel where I placed my heart and hand
Oh Father tell me truly shall my soul pass through Ireland

'Twas for loving dear old Ireland in this prison cell I lie
'Twas for loving dear old Ireland in this foreign land I die
Will you meet my little daughter will you make her understand
Oh Father tell me quickly shall my soul pass through Ireland

Then the Irish rebel died.
  The Legend of the Rebel Soldier
In a dreary Yankee prison where a rebel soldier lay.
By his side there stood a preacher Ere his soul should pass away.
And he faintly whispered: “Parson” as he clutched him by the hand
Oh Parson, tell me quickly, Will my soul pass through the southland?

Will my soul pass through the southland, through old Virginia grand
Will I see the hills of Georgia and the green fields of Alabam?
Will I see that little church house, where I pledged my heart and hand
Oh Parson, tell me quickly, will my soul pass through the Southland?

Was for loving dear old Dixie, in this dreary cell I lie
Was for loving dear old Dixie, in this Northern state I die.
Will you see my little daughter, will you make her understand
Oh Parson, tell my quickly, will my soul pass through the Southland?

Then the Rebel soldier died.