Seven hues on the tartan,
Three lions on the flag,
One red hand in defiance...
Hailing the golden stag.
Lamh foistenach abu
Defending Erin go bragh,
Clan of the wheaton cu,
The Ó Súilleabháin MhicRaith
In the dead of the winter's dark days filled with gloom.
A hearty old tree chooses to bloom.
While other plants shudder and shrink from the cold
This gaunt noble king stands defiant and bold.
Like the phoenix from fire extending its wings
From an ice laden branch bursts the flower of kings.
Reminding the clan that the sun will return
Filling the fields with gold grain for the quern.
So when death roams the valley or doubt haunts the glen
Or the serpent of dread stings the spirit of men
Look deep in the shadows that shroud the dark doom
And there you will find Ó Súilleabháin's bloom.