The grand songs, the high songs,
They sound through all the land;
Yet few there be can sing them well,
And few can understand.
But ah! the little homely songs
Crooned about house and byre,
They soothe the goodwife's cradle watch,
The goodman 'fore the fire.

The high songs, the grand songs,
They are the nation's pride,
And lords and scholars praise them well;
But down the countryside,
Sing us the little, homely songs
Warm from the heart of life
That make the lover kiss his lass,
The goodman love his wife!