Home Fires

Welcome Every Guest
a shape note round, welcome to the world of music.

Welcome, welcome, every guest, welcome to our music feast.
Music is our only cheer, fills the soul and ravished ear.
Sacred nine, teach us the mood, sweetest notes to be employed.
Softly swells the trembling air to complete our concert fair.

The Wagoner’s Lad
a poor boy who falls in love with a girl whose parents disapprove of him. So what else is new?

Oh I am a poor girl, my fortune is sad
I have always been courted by the wagoner's lad
He courted me daily by night and by day
And now he is loaded and going away

Your parents don't like me because I am poor
They say I'm not worthy of entering your door
I work for my living, my money's my own
And if they don't like me they can leave me alone

Your horses are hungry, go feed them some hay
Come sit down beside me as long as you may
My horses ain't hungry, they won't eat your hay
So fare thee well, darling, I'll be on my way

Your wagon needs greasing, your whip's for to mend
Come sit down here by me as long as you can
My wagon is greasy, my whip's in my hand
So fare thee well, darling, no longer to stand

Oh hard is the fortune of all womankind
They're always controlled, they're always confined
Controlled by their parents until they're a bride
Then slaves to their husbands the rest of their lives

The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry
the story of a young woman who has a child by a seal. The Scottish legend of the silkie tells of creatures who are seals when they are in the sea and human beings on the land. There are many families in the outer islands who claim seals as ancestors.

An earthly nurse sits and sings,
And aye, she sings by lily wean,
And little ken I my bairn's father,
Far less the land where he dwells in.

For he came on night to her bed feet,
And a grumbly guest, I'm sure was he,
Saying "Here am I, thy bairn's father,
Although I be not comely."

"I am a man upon the land,
I am a silkie on the sea,
And when I'm far and far frae land,
My home it is in Sule Skerrie."

And he had ta'en a purse of gold
And he had placed it upon her knee,
Saying, "Give to me my little young son,
And take thee up thy nurse's fee."

"And it shall come to pass on a summer's day,
When the sun shines bright on every stane,
I'll come and fetch my little young son,
And teach him how to swim the faem."

"And ye shall marry a gunner good,
And a right fine gunner I'm sure he'll be,
And the very first shot that e'er he shoots
Will kill both my young son and me."

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Child #113 The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry is one of numerous tales of the Silkies, or seafolk, known to the inhabitants of the Orkney Islands and the Hebrides. These enchanted creatures dwell in the depth of the sea, occasionally doffing their seal skins to pass on land as mortal men. Legend has it that they then accept human partners, and some families on the islands actually trace their ancestry to such marriages. In more complete versions of the ballad, the Silkie's forecast of the death of himself and his son eventually comes to pass. The tune is by Dr. James Waters of Columbia University. From "British Ballads and Folk Songs from the Joan Baez Songbook."

The Lily of the West
a Kentucky version of an Irish ballad, which explains our saying, “Kentucky, home of beautiful horses and fast women.”

When first I came to Louisville Some pleasure there to find
A damsel there from Lexington was pleasing to my mind
Her rosy cheeks, her ruby lips, like arrows pierced my breast
And the name she bore was Flora The lily of the West

I courted lovely Flora she promised ne’er to go
But soon a tale was told to me, that filled my heart with owe
They said she meets another man who holds my love in jest
Then go, my lovely Flora The lily of the West

Way down in yonder shady grove A man of high degree
Conversing with my Flora there It seems so strange to me
And the answer that she gave to him It sore did me oppress
I was betrayed by Flora The lily of the West

I stepped up to my rival My dagger in my hand
I seized him by the collar and I boldly bade him stand
Being mad to desperation I pierced him in the breast
I killed a man for Flora The lily of the West

I had to stand my trial I had to make my plea
They placed me in the criminal box And then commenced on me
She so deceived the jury, so modestly she dressed
That she far outshone bright Venus, The lily of the West

Shawneetown
A traditional river rafting song from the Ohio Valley. Personally, I think he was bragging about all the women.

Some rows up but we floats down
Way down the Ohio to Shawneetown

And it’s hard on the beech oar, she moves too slow
Way down to Shawneetown on the Ohio

Well now the current’s got her and we’ll take up the slack,
We’re gonna float her down to Shawneetown, gonna bushwack her back

Well the whiskey’s in the jug, boys, the wheat is in the sack
We’re gonna trade ‘em down in Shawneetown, gonna bring the rock salt back

The water’s mighty warm, boys, the air is cold and dank
And the cursed fog it gets so thick that you cannot see the bank

Now I’ve got a wife in Louisville, one in New Orleans
Going down to Shawneetown to see my Indian queen

Repeat 1st verse

Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms
by the Irish poet Thomas Moore. It was one of my grandparents’ favorite songs. One night, I was performing this song to a roomful of people who were not paying any attention at all. I suddenly became aware of a loveseat in the back of the room where an elderly couple was holding hands and looking at each other with tears in their eyes. This is for them.

Believe me if all those endearing young charms which I gaze on so fondly today
Were to change by tomorrow and melt in my arms like fairy gifts fading away.
Thou wouds't still be adored, as this moment thou aret let thy loveliness fade as it will
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart, would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known, to which time will but make thee more dear.
Oh, the heart that has truly loved never forgets But it truly loves unto the close
As the sun flower turns on her god when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose.

The Water Is Wide
unrequited love at its best.

The water is wide, I cannot swim oer
Neither have I wings to fly
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I

There is a ship and she sails the sea
She's loaded deep as deep can be
But not so deep as the love I'm in
I know not if I sink or swim

I leaned my back against an oak
Thinking it was a trusty tree
But first it bent and then it broke
So did my love prove false to me

I reached my finger into some soft bush
Thinking the fairest flower to find
I pricked my finger to the bone
And left the fairest flower behind

Oh love be handsome and love be kind
Gay as a jewel when first it is new
But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the morning dew

The Demon Lover
a young married woman runs off with an ex-love who turns out to be the devil. I think I dated him too.

Well met, well met, my own true love
Well met, well met, cried he
I've just returned from the salt, salt sea
And it's all for the love of thee

O I could have married the king's daughter dear
And she would have married me
But I have refused the crown of gold
And it's all for the sake of thee

If you could have married the king's daughter dear
I'm sure you are to blame
For I am married to the house carpenter
And he is a fine young man

If you'll forsake your house carpenter
And come away with me
I'll take you to where the grass grows green
On the banks of Italy

If I forsake my house carpenter
And come away with thee
What have you got to maintain me upon
And keep me from slavery

I've six ships sailing on the salt, salt sea
A-sailing from dry land
And a hundred and twenty jolly young men
Shall be at thy command

She picked up her poor wee babe
And kisses gave him three
Saying stay right here with the house carpenter
And keep him good company

They had not been at sea two weeks
I'm sure it was not three
When this poor maid began to weep
And she wept most bitterly

O do you weep for your gold, he said
Your houses, your land, or your store?
Or do you weep for your house carpenter
That you never shall see anymore

I do not weep for my gold, she said
My houses, my land or my store
But I do weep for my poor wee babe
That I never shall see anymore

They had not been at sea three weeks
I'm sure it was not four
When in their ship there sprang a leak
And she sank to rise no more

What hills, what hills are those, my love
That are so bright and free
Those are the hill of Heaven, my love
But not for you and me

What hills, what hills, are those, my love
That are so dark and low
Those are the hills of Hell, my love
Where you and I must go

Child #243 The Cherry Tree Carol
a mountain ballad about the courtship of Mary and Joseph.

Joseph was an old man,
An old man was he,
He wedded Virgin Mary,
The Queen of Galilee (2x)

As Joseph and Mary
Walked through an orchard green,
There were apples and cherries
Plenty to be seen.

Mary spoke to Joseph
So meek and so mild
Joseph, gather me some chrries
For I am with child.

Then Joseph flew in anger,
In anger he flew;
Let the father of the baby
Gather cherries for you.

Jesus spoke a few words,
And a very few words spoke he,
My mother wants some cherries,
Bend over, cherry tree!

The cherry tree bowed down,
It was low to the ground;
And Mary gathered cherries
While Joseph stood around.

Then Joseph took Mary
All on his left knee;
Saying: Lord have mercy upon me
For what I have done.

Then Joseph took Mary
All on his right knee;
Pray tell me, little baby,
When your birthday shall be.

On the sixth day of January
My birthday shall be,
When the stars and the elements
Shall tremble with fear.

Wayfaring Stranger
a powerful mountain hymn.

I am a poor wayfaring stranger
A-trav'ling through this land of woe.
And there's no sickness, toil or danger
In that bright world to which I go.
I'm going home to see my father (mother, sister, brother etc.)
I'm going there no more to roam;
I'm just a-going over Jordan
I'm just a-going over home.

I know dark clouds will gather 'round me
I know my way is steep and rough;
But beauteous fields lie just beyond me
Where souls redeemed their vigil keep.
I'm going there to meet my mother
She said she'd meet me when I come
I'm just a-going over Jordan
I'm just a-going over home.

I want to wear a crown of glory
When I get home to that bright land
I want to shout Salvation's story
In concert with that bloodwashed band.
I'm going there to meet my Saviour
To sing His praises forevermore
I'm only going over Jordan
I'm only going over home.

There is a Balm in Gilead
I’m glad there’s one somewhere.

cho: There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole,
There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.

Sometimes I feel discouraged
And think my work's in vain
But then the Holy spirit
Revives my soul again.

If you cannot preach like Peter
If you cannot preach like Paul
Then go and tell your neighbor
He died to save us all.

Cuillins of Home (The Exile’s Dream)
the song of an emigrant who is haunted by dreams of the sound of water running down the hills on the Isle of Skye. I heard it first on the Isle of Skye, Summer 1990

Soon shall I see thy bright shore in the sunlight
The heather of hills the rising of morn
The rolling gray sea mist blows east in the morning
To run the wild hills of the Cuillins of home.

Far away seaward thy green hills are lovely
Where glide those hill waters down to the sea.
They tumble at e’entide like snow wreaths in moon rise,
As those whose heart’s yearning might yearn them to be.

Far away seaward thou green land, my youth land
Far away seaward the Cuillins of home,
Yet here in my dreamtime I hear your hill water
In the laughter of streams by the Cuillins of home.

Precious Memories
we are the sum of our experiences and our memories are the equation.

Precious memories, unseen angels
Sent from somewhere to my soul
How they linger ever near me
And the sacred scenes unfold

Chorus:

Precious memories
How they linger
How they ever flood my soul
Then, the stillness of the midnight
Precious sacred scenes unfold

Precious father, loving mother
Fly across the lonely years
And those old home scenes of my childhood
In fond memory appear

As I travel down lifes pathway,
Know not what the years may hold.
As I ponder, hopes grow fonder,
Precious memories flood my soul

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