If In Winter You Shall Drive Birds From Crumbs, You Shall Not Thrive; But If You Feed Them, They Will Fly To Sing It Sweetly On The Sky. So Throw Up The Window, And Scatter With A Lavish Hand, Taking Care You Do Not Spill Flower-Pots From The Window-Sill, Singing, "Ireland Shall Be Free From The Centre To The Sea"; Singing Bravely Once Again, "We Are Dan O'Connell'S Men."