“Genealogy,” Ensign, Nov. 1972, 33


    My mother’s eyes were Irish;

    My father’s eyes were, too,

    And all my lovely sisters

    Had eyes of Irish blue.

    And when the boys, they came along,

    Ah, sure, they did beguile,

    For each of them was surely blessed

    With a splendid Irish smile.

    And proud we were of Irish blood

    As pure as shamrock green,

    As sturdy an Irish family

    As ever could be seen.

    And then we joined the Mormon Church—

    Ah, surely that was grand!

    And with true Irish vigor

    We answered each demand.

    We kept the Word of Wisdom;

    We paid our tithing, too.

    We all did every little thing

    That we were asked to do.

    We did our genealogy

    There, duty was all fun.

    With joyful pride we studied hard

    About each Irish son,

    We wrote it on the family chart

    (We wrote it all in green);

    Each Irish name we added on,

    Each fellow, each colleen.

    And then there came that frightful day

    The shock we had to bear!

    Father came home looking pale;

    We gathered ’round his chair.

    And mother’s Irish eyes were sad;

    Father’s eyes were, too.

    And sister’s eyes were full of tears

    That washed the Irish blue.

    My brothers’ splendid Irish smiles

    Soon faded all away,

    And all our Irish tongues were stilled,

    For there was naught to say.

    This thing our father told us—

    Believe it? We could not!

    For in our Irish line he found

    Great-grandpa was a Scot!