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The Trees They Grow So High

de Traditional

There's naught but care on every hand
In ever hour that passes, O
What signifies the life of man
If it were not for the lassies, O

Chorus
Green grow the rushes, O
Green grow the rushes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent
Are spent among the lassies, O

The worldly race may riches chase
And riches still may fly them, O
And though at last they catch them fast
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O

Chorus

Give me a cannie hour at e'en
My arms around me dearie, O
The wisest man the world e'er saw
He dearly loved the lassies, O

Chorus

Old nature swears the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O
Her apprentice hand she tried on man
And then she made the lassies, O

Chorus
Green grow the rushes
Green grow the rushes

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