The War Is Over Now
They will make their ploughs from armour piercing shells.
I have asked them, and I promise they’ve not lied
They will till their fields with mortar bombs and caring.
In memory of their loved one’s who have died.
The war is over now. Can’t you see those children running, through those fields of green?
The war is over now, and the home is a happy scene.
Can’t you see the people playing, like they never could before?
God you are our hero.
You stopped that war.
The dying’s over now. Still all those women weeping, those tears of joy.
The crying’s over now, and peace is a brand new toy.
Can’t you see the people laughing, like they never laughed before?
God they were the hero’s.
They lived that war.
The love has started now. Can’t you see those people walking, through those streets serene?
The love has started now, and we know what this will mean.
Can’t you see those people living, like they never did before?
God you’ll be a hero.
When there is no war.
Will Ye Go And Marry Katie?
Will ye go and marry Katie? Can ye think to tak a man?
It’s a pity ane sae pretty, shouldna do the things they can.
You a charming lovely creature, wharefore wid ye lie y’er lane?
Beauty’s of a fading nature. Has a season, and is gane.
Therefore while y’er bloomin’ Katie, listen to a loving Swain.
Tak a mark by auntie Betty, ance the darling o’ the men.
She, wi’ coy and fickle nature, trifled aff ’til she’s grown auld.
Now she’s left by ilka creature. Let nae this o’ you be told.
But my dear and lovely Katie, this ae thing I hae tae tell.
I could wish nae man tae get ye, save it were my very sel’.
Tak me Katie at my offer, or be had, and I’ll tak you.
We’s mak nae din about yer tocher.
Marry Katie, then we’ll woo.
Mony words are needless Katie, ye’re a wanter, sae am I.
If ye wad a man should get ye, then I can that want supply.
Say then Katie, say ye’ll tak me, as the very choice o’ men.
Never after to forsake me, and the Priest shall say Amen.
Then, oh then my charming Katie, when we’re married what comes then?
Then no other man can get ye, but ye’ll be my very ane.
Then we’ll kiss and clap at pleasure, nor wi’ envy troubled be;
If ance I had my lovely treasure, let the rest admire and die.
From the Johnson book ‘The Scots Musical Museum Vol. 1.’ Page 472.
I’ve added the source because someone claimed he / she wrote it, and put it on their album. It’s
Sae rantin’ly, sae wantonly, sae dauntin’ly gaed he.
He played a tune, and he danced it roun’, aboot the gallows tree.
Fareweel ye dungeons dark and strong, fareweel, fareweel to thee.
MacPherson’s time will no’ be long, on yonder gallows tree.
Twas by a woman’s treacherous hand, that I was condemned to dee.
Above my heid at a window she stood, and a blanket threw ower me.
Untie these bands fae aff my hands, and gae tae me my sword;
And there’s nae a man in all Scotlan’, but I’ll brave him at a word.
There’s some come here tae see me hang, and some tae buy my fiddle.
But ere I come tae pairt wi’ her, I’ll brak her doon the middle.
He took his fiddle in baith hands, and brak it ower his knee;
And said. “When I’m deid and gone, nae ither shall play thee.”
The courier came ower the brig o’ Banff, tae set MacPherson free -;
But they put the clock a quarter afore, and hanged him fae the tree.
Where are the cavalry?
Where are the cavalry?
Where, are the cavalry here?
They are some women, who mean more to me. Tender.
They are just women, who long to be free. Strong.
And they saw, just how it should be, long ago.
They are some men, who mean more to me. Caring.
They are just men, who long to be free. Finally.
And they saw just how it should be, long ago.
The resistance were born, to take us above.
The glory of God is here.
All their lives, devoted to love.
The parting of kingdom’s is near.
Child abuse, is compiled abuse, and that wild abuse, is the same tomorrow, as today.
She returned one day to where she used to live.
Saw all those faces she’d come to forgive.
Many were silent. Others didn’t know.
Some of them died years ago.
They recalled just why, she didn’t want to live.
All those people, who dare not forgive.
Many smiled sweetly. Others never spoke.
Kid’s called her names, for a joke.
She cried that day, though her tears didn’t slide.
Seeing those places she used to hide.
Relief from the pain.
No warm feelings in the rain.
She lived that way, ’til her mind fell apart.
They treated her symptoms, but never her heart.
This is a story, time couldn’t heal.
So please listen now to my appeal.
On the narrow road of life, it is our memories that keep us straight,
But if our past is all a lie, those memories can twist us ’til we die.
In Case Of Love
In case of love I’m living alone.
In cases of love I find,
I’m frightened to leave this castle of doom.
This castle I’ve built in my mind.
I built my own defences.
I built them with some pride.
Now no one approaches this stone that is me.
I’m a fortress you can’t get inside.
We’re not our own creators.
God built us with some pride,
But no one approaches this heart that is free,
I’m the one that they just can’t abide.
I make my own decisions,
But who would give me love.
If no one considers the pain that has been,
And the hurt that is deep inside.
Ho – Ro My Nut Brown Maiden
Ho – ro my nut brown maiden, hi – ri my nut brown maiden.
Ho – ro – ro, maiden. Oh she’s the maid for me.
Her eye so mildly beaming.
Her look so frank and free,
In waking, and in dreaming,
Is ever more with me.
Oh Mary, mild eyed Mary,
By land or on the sea,
Though time and tide may vary,
My heart beats true to thee.
In Glasgow or Dunedin,
Were maidens fair to see,
But ne’er a lowland maiden,
Could lure mine eyes from thee.
Mine eyes that never vary,
From looking to the glen,
Where dwells my highland Mary,
like wild rose ‘neath the Ben.
And when with blossom laden,
Bright summer comes again,
I’ll fetch my nut brown maiden,
Down frae the bonny glen.
Our affections are bought, with money and favours,
No matter where we are in this land.
Our circle of friends is ever decreasing.
Oh all us poor people, do we need a hand.
She arrived by car on a fine spring morning.
Took a drink in her hand as she cleaned out the bar.
She thought about later when people would enter.
Polluting her world, for a chat, and a jar.
He arrived by car on that same spring evening.
Bought a drink to be drank, as he played the machines.
He drooled about later, when he would corrupt her.
Polluting her world, and destroying her dreams.
He arrived by bus, that very same evening,
Took his drink in his hand as he surveyed the scene.
He realised later, she would be leaving.
Breaking his heart, with a Pratt, and his scheme.
Nobody knows where it will end.
This soap in our lives is too much to bear.
We all know where it is heading.
Can nobody help them?
Does nobody care?
The Dying Ploughboy
The gloamin’ winds are blawin’ saft
Aroun’ my lonely stable laft;
Amid the skylight’s dusky red,
The sunbeams wander roun’ my bed.
The doctor left me in good cheer,
But something tells me death is near;
My time on earth has nae been lang;
My time has come and I must gang.
Ah, me! ’tis but a week the morn,
Since I was weel, and hairstin’ corn,
As fu’ o’ health, and strength, and fun,
As ony man amang the throng.
But something in my briest gaed wrang,
A vessel burst, and blood it sprang;
And, as the sun sets in the skies,
They’ll lay me down nae mair to rise.
Fareweel my horse, my bonnie pair,
I’ll yoke, and loose wi’ you nae mair;
Fareweel my plough, wi’ you this han’,
Will turn ower nae mair fresh lan’.
Fareweel, my friends, my comrades dear,
My voice you shall nae langer hear;
Fareweel to yonder setting sun,
My time has come, and I must gang.
I’ve served my master weel and true,
My weel done wark he’ll never rue;
And yet, forbye, I micht hae striven,
To reach the pearly gates o’ heaven.
‘Tis weel my Maker knows my name,
Will he gae me a welcome hame?
As I should help in need afford,
Receive me in thy mercy, Lord.
Scottish Bothy Ballad. Written by the Reverend R H Calder.
You Told Me On The Phone
You told me on the phone that I’m not welcome here.
You told me on the phone that that’s the stance,
But have you got the right to speak for everyone?
Or are you just exceeding your importance?
Could you please say hi to my love for me?
Tell her that I miss her such a lot.
Do you think you’ll see her tomorrow?
Tell her that my love is all I’ve got.
You told me that she doesn’t want to see me now.
Well that’s ok, but can she verify?
You see this second hand information could,
Be construed as nothing but a lie.
Ask her if she wouldn’t reconsider now.
All the things you say she thinks of me.
Ask her if she might be broken hearted now.
For my love for her, I can guarantee.
Abide With Me
Abide with me; fast falls the even tide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide;
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless,
Oh, abide with me.
Swift to it’s close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim, it’s glories pass away;
Change and decay, in all around I see;
Oh though who changes not,
Abide with me!
I need thy presence, every passing hour;
What but thy grace, can foil the tempter’s power?
Who like thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine,
Oh, abide with me.
I Fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is death’s sting?
Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still,
If though abide with me.
Hold thou thy cross, before my closing eyes,
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee:
In life, in death,
O Lord, abide with me!
Written in 1847 by Henry Francis Lyte 1793-1847. (Tune is Eventide. W. H. Monk 1823-89)
From the 1980 book edited by Tony Jasper ‘The Illustrated Family Hymn Book’. (Queen Anne’s Press)