Page:Lilies of the valley (1).pdf/5

 The sheep are couring in the heugh, O sirs it's winter fairly Now up in the morning's no for me, Up in the morning early, I'd rather gang supperless to my bed, Than rise in the morning early,

Loud roars the blast amang the blant, The branches tirling barley, Among the chimley taps it thuds, And frost is nipping sairly. Now up in the morning's no for me, Up in the morning earily, To sit a' night I'd rather agree, Than rise in the morning early.

The sun peeps o'er the southlan hill, Like ony timorous cadie, Just blinks a wee, then sinks again, And that we find severely. Now up in the morning's no for me, Up in the morning early When snaw blaws into the chimley taps, Wha'd rise in the morning early.

Nae listles lilt on hedge or bush, Poor things they suffer sairly,