Hear the Atlantic seethe and swellnAnd hear the lonely chapel bellnGod save their souls and mind them wellnTomas and Sean ConneeleynnYesterday at half past fournThey pushed their currach from the shorenOne took the net while one took the oarnThe two fishermen ConneeleynnFrom Connor's fort and from Synge's chairnTowards Inis Mor and Inis IarrnThey scour the sea in silent prayernAs they go searching for their neighboursnnDia Diobh a beirt iascari breanNach mbeidh ar ais ar barr an tranGo mbeidh sibh sona sasta ar neamhnTomas agus Sean O'ConghailennDraw the seaweed up the hillnAnd sow potatoes in the drillnTry to understand God's willnAnd the loss of the two ConneeleysnnHear the Atlantic seethe and swellnAnd hear the lonely chapel bellnGod save their souls and mind them wellnTomas and Sean Conneeley