My Country, ‘Tis of Thee

An American patriotic song written by Samuel F. Smith while a student at the Andover Theological Seminary in Andover, Massachusetts in 1831. The tune is the same as the British anthem “God Save The Queen.”

Lyrics:

My Country, ‘Tis of Thee

My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride.

From every mountain side let freedom ring!

My native country, thee, land of the noble free, Thy name I love.
I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills.

My heart with rapture thrills like that above.

Let music swell the breeze, and ring from all the trees sweet freedom’s song.

Let mortal tongues awake, let all that breathe partake.

Let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong.

Our father’s God, to Thee, Author of liberty, to Thee we sing.

Long may our land be bright with freedom’s holy light.

Protect us by Thy might, Great God, our King!

Angels from the Realms of Glory

This is my adaptation of a 19th century classic Christmas carol, written by Scottish poet James Montgomery.

Lyrics:

[G] Angels, from the realms of glory,
[C] Wing your flight o’er [D] all the [G] earth;
Ye who sang creation’s story,
[C] Now proclaim [D] Messiah’s [G] birth:

Refrain: [D] Come and worship,
[G] Come and worship
[C] Worship Christ, the [D] newborn [G] King.

Shepherds, in the fields abiding,
Watching o’er your flocks by night,
God with man is now residing,
Yonder shines the infant light:

Refrain.
Sages, leave your contemplations,
Brighter visions beam afar;
Seek the great Desire of nations,
Ye have seen his natal star:

Refrain.
Saints before the altar bending,
Watching long in hope and fear,
Suddenly the Lord, descending,
In his temple shall appear.

Refrain.
Sinners, wrung with true repentance,
Doomed for guilt to endless pains,
Justice now revokes the sentence,
Mercy calls you—break your chains:

Refrain.
Though an infant now we view him,
He shall fill his Father’s throne,
Gather all the nations to him;
Every knee shall then bow down:

Refrain.
All creation, join in praising
God the Father, Spirit, Son,
Evermore your voices raising,
To th’eternal Three in One:

Keep Your Hands On That Plow

Luke 9:62
But Jesus said to him, “No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.”

Guitar tuned down 1/2 step.

Lyrics:

[Em] Got my hands on the gospel plow,
Wouldn’t take nothin’ for my journey now.
Keep your hands on that [D] plow, [Em] hold on.

chorus:
[G] Hold on, [Em] hold on,
Keep your hands on that [D] plow, [Em] hold on.

Took Paul and Silas, put ’em in the j ail,
Had no one to go their bail.
Keep your hands on that plow, hold on.

Paul and Silas, they begin to shout,
Jail doors opened and they walked out.
Keep your hands on the plow, hold on.

Peter was so nice and neat,
Wouldn’t let Jesus wash his feet.
Keep your hands on that plow, hold on.

Peter got anxious and he said,
Wash my feet my hands and head.”
Keep your hands on that plow, hold on.

The melody of “Keep Your Hands On That Plow” is reminiscent of the song below: “900 Miles”

Macpherson’s Lament

Jamie Macpherson was a Scottish robber, born in 1675, the illegitimate son of a Highland laird and a gypsy woman.
When his wealthy father, who had raised him in his house was killed by cattle thieves, he went to live with his gypsy mother. Growing up in that culture led him to a life of crime although he was more like Robin Hood in that he didn’t rob the poor and disadvantaged.

Jamie was unusually strong and skilled as a swordsman and a violin player.

He was arrested for bearing arms at a market and sentenced to death by hanging on November 16, 1700.

There was a pardon on the way but the town advanced their clock 15 minutes so the hanging would take place before the pardon arrived. The town left the clock in that position for many years.

While in prison the night before his execution he composed this song. Before he was hanged, he played this tune beneath the gallows, and then, after playing his song, he offered his fiddle to his clansmen to play it at his wake. No one came forward, and so he broke the fiddle across his knee, throwing the pieces to the crowd, saying, “No one else shall play Jamie Macpherson’s fiddle”.The Clan Macpherson Museum in Newtonmore houses what remains of his fiddle.

In the folk process many elements of melodies are similar and interchangeable. There is a resemblance in this to “I Heard The Voice of Jesus.” Click Here For: I Heard The Voice of Jesus

Lyrics:
[F] Farewell ye dungeons [C] dark and strong
[F] The wretch’s [Dm] destiny
[F] MacPherson’s life will [C] no’ be long
[F] On yonder gallows [C] tree

[F] Sae rantingly, [C] sae wantonly
[F] Sae dauntingly gaed [Dm] he
[F] He played a tune and he [C] danced aroon
[F] Below the gallows [C] tree

Oh what is death but parting breath
On mony’s the blood plain
I’ve seen his face and in this place
I scorn him yet again

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly
Sae dauntingly gaed he
He played a tune and he danced aroon
Below the gallows tree

I’ve lived a life of grief and strife
I die by trechery
But it breaks my heart, I must depart
And not avengá¨d be

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly
Sae dauntingly gaed he
He played a tune and he danced aroon
Below the gallows tree

Gae take these bonds from off my hands
And bring tae me my sword
And there’s no’ a man in all Scotland
But I’d brave him at his word

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly
Sae dauntingly gaed he
He played a tune and he danced aroon
Below the gallows tree

Whiskey-O

Whiskey-O is a halyard chantey for raising the yards that hold the sails on the old sailing ships. The chantey man would sing the verse and the crew would pull the ropes on the chorsus.

Lyrics:
Whiskey is the life of man
Always was since the world began

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
Rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

I thought I heard the first mate say
I treats my crew in a decent way

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
Rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

Whiskey is the life of man
Whiskey from that old tin can

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
Rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

Oh whiskey straight, and whiskey strong
Give me some whiskey and I’ll sing you a song

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
Rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

A lot of whiskey in this land
And a bottle full for the chantey man

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
Rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

All Through The Night

Traditional Welsh Folk Song

Lyrics:
[G] Sleep my [Em] child and [Am] peace [D] attend thee,
[C] All [D] through the [G] night
Guardian [Em] angels [Am] God will [D] send thee,
[C] All [D] through the [G] night
[C] Soft the drowsy [Am] hours are creeping,
[F] Hill and dale in [Dm] slumber [D] sleeping
[G] I my [Em] loved ones’ [Am] watch am [D] keeping,
[C] All [D] through the [G] night

Angels watching, e’er around thee,
All through the night
Midnight slumber close surround thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones’ watch am keeping,
All through the night

While the moon her watch is keeping
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O’er thy spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night

Angels watching e’er round thee
All through the night
In thy slumbers close surround thee
All through the night
They will of all fears disarm thee,
No forebodings should alarm thee,
They will let no peril harm thee
All through the night.

Oh Sinner Man

Traditional Spiritual

Lyrics:
[Em] Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to?
[D] Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to?
[Em] Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to all [D] on that [Em] day?

Run to the moon, “Moon, won’t you hide you?” X3
Run to the sea sea is just a-boiling X3
Run to the sun sun’ll be a blazing X3
all on that day”

Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to?
Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to?
Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to all on that day?

INST

Lord said, “Sinner man, you should’ve been a praying” X3
all on that day”
Run to Jesus Jesus say you’re welcome X3

Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to?
Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to?
Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to all on that day?

Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to?
Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to?
Oh, sinner man, where you’re gonna run to all on that day?

Shalom

Every day we pray for the peace of Israel and joy in the streets of Jerusalem! This is an old Hebrew folk song I first heard from the Weavers.

Lyrics:
[Dm] Shalom, chaverim.
Shalom, chaverim.
Shalom, shalom.
L’hitraot, l’hitraot,
Shalom, shalom.

English singing translation:
Farewell, my friends.
Farewell, my friends.
Shalom, shalom.
Till we meet again, till we meet again.
Shalom, shalom.
Have Peace my friends till we meet again!

Country Pickin’

When I studied at the Old Town School of Folk Music in Chicago in the mid to late ’50s Pete Seeger invited our teacher Frank Hamilton to join him on a shared recording project called “Nonsusch.” We were all thrilled that Frank our local hero was going to be on a record with our International hero Pete Seeger! One of the tunes they played together was called “Living In The Country.” I have put a little bit more air into it.

The Weary Whaler


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The Weary Whaler

This is a sea chantey from the golden age of sail. There’s a youtube video of me singing it when you click on the VIDEO LINK below:


Click to watch VIDEO LINK

Lyrics:
[Em] If I had the wings of a gull, me boys,
I would spread ’em [Am] and fly [Em] home.
I’d leave old Greenland’s icy grounds
For of right whales [Am] there is [Em] none.

[Em] And the weather’s rough and the winds do blow
And there’s little comfort here.
I’d sooner be snug in a Glasgow pub,
A-drinkin’ [Am] of strong [Em] beer.

Oh, a man must be mad or want money bad
To venture catchin’ whales.
For we may be drowned when the fish turns around
Or our head be smashed by his tail.

Though the work seems grand to the young green hand,
And his heart is high when he goes,
In a very short burst he’d as soon hear a curse
As the cry of: “There she blows!”

Well, these trials we bear for nigh four years,
Till the flying jib points for home.
We’re supposed for our toil to get a bonus of the oil,
And an equal share of the bone.

But we go to the agent to settle for the trip,
And we’ve find we’ve cause for lament.
For we’ve slaved away four years of our lives
And earned about three pound ten.