The Book of Scottish Song/The simmer morn

The simmer morn.

[J. Mitchell.—Air, "Green grows the rashes."]

Bright shines the simmer's morn,
Bright shines the simmer's morn;
Come let us view the flowery fields,
And hail wi' joy the waving coin.

Let those who think that pleasure lies
Within the magic glasses, O,
Come view with me the glorious skies,
And own themselves but asses, O.
Bright shines, &c.

Will dissipation's feeble gait
Wi' health's elastic step compare?
Will aching heads ne'er learn to hate
The haunts, where lurks the demon care?
Bright shines, &c.

Refreshing is the morning air,
The night is damp and dreary, O;
The fool who would the two compare,
May sleep till he is weary, O.
Bright shines, &c.

Then let us seek the flowery dells,
Where health is in attendance, O,
And from the pure, the crystal rills,
Drink to sweet independence, O.
Bright shines, &c.

The tavern's roar, then, let us shun,
If health or wealth we prize them, O;
The poor man's fortune is begun,
When he learns to despise them, O.
Bright shines, &c.

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