He'll wear your heart and you will wear his ring   and you'll go rolling down a mustard hill   Play a lullaby on a fishbone harp   ride away on the gray mare's tail      In the morning   In the morning   In the morning when I/you rise   In the morning   In the morning   In the morning I/you will be my/your true love's bride      Weave a rosemary wreath in your auburn hair   and you'll be the envy of all the girls   He'll wear your heart - and you will wear his ring   and you'll go rolling down a mustard hill   Play a lullaby on a fishbone harp   ride away on the gray mare's tail      In the morning   In the morning   In the morning when I/you rise   In the morning   In the morning   In the morning I/you will be my/your true love's bride      Oh the blood of the lamb is in the well   and it runs from the crack along the wedding bell   Perhaps a wind has blown the barrel from its mark   I heard the bird but could not hit it in the dark   I have bought and sold my only love   and my rifle, it has let me down      In the morning   In the morning   In the morning when I/you rise   In the morning   In the morning   In the morning will I/she ever be his/my bride?