FROM OUR CELTIC LAND

Chorus

Men of Cornwall one and all are we
And here we stand together,
To bring you greetings from our Celtic land.
We have brought our wives and friends with us
Across the western water,
To sing, to drink, to talk and shake your hand.

In times ago the Celtic Saints
Came to our land of Cornwall,
And put their names to our villages and towns.
Like St Just, St Ives, St Buryan,
St Hillary and Zennor.
Their Celtic Christian roots can here be found.

Chorus

We all share a common feeling _
A deep rooted love of Cornwall.
We are here with you to sing her songs with pride.
We will tell you of the fishermen,
The farmers and the miners,
And the beauty of our Cornish countryside.

Chorus

Copyright Harry (Safari) Glasson

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SIMPLE PLEASURES

Simple pleasures like a pasty in the hand,
While you sit and watch the fulmar swoop and glide.
With your children building castles in the sand,
See a fishing boat returning on the tide.

Chorus

Someday when I'm older, when I'm wise,
And maybe passing time will dim my eyes.
It's memories like these I'll call to hand,
The memories of a simple Cornish man.

To hear a lark sing high up on the moor.
The perfumed honeysuckle in the lane.
To stand and watch a mewing buzzard soar,
Just walking in the gentle summer rain.

Chorus

Simple pleasures like a little fall of snow,
That turns the barbed wire fences into lace.
Sitting talking in the flickering candle glow,
As the dancing shadows play across her face.

Chorus

The dog that curls itself around your toes,
When that eastern wind blows underneath your door.
A frosty morning nipping at your nose,
As you walk across the winter Sennen Shore.

Chorus


Copyright Harry (Safari) Glasson

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Islands of Scilly

Oh beautiful islands of Scilly
Golden sand washed by the sea
These islands of stone
Are the islands of home
You always are calling to me
And wherever I travel
In this world wherever I roam
There's none can compare
To those Islands so fair
The islands of Scilly my home

St Agnes, Bryher and Tresco
Samson, St Marys and Gugh
Islands apart
But here in my heart
I'm always thinking of you
From the day mark that stands
On St martins
To the bishop that stands to the west
In the clear summer light
Or a rough winters night
It's the way I remember you best

Terraced fields of the spring flowers
Your heather clad hills in the fall
I'll be thinking of you
Out there in the blue
In the west wind, I hear you call
You stand out there in the Atlantic
A beautiful fortress alone
And though far and wide
Your folks may abide
The islands of Scilly are home

Oh beautiful islands of Scilly
Golden sand washed by the sea
These islands of stone
Are the islands of home
You always are calling to me
And wherever I travel
In this world wherever I roam
There's none can compare
To those Islands so fair
The islands of Scilly my home


Copyright Harry (Safari) Glasson

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ONE AGAIN

This and of legend that we live in,
Was formed by men of long ago.
The early farmers formed the hillside.
Toiling miners fashioned down below.
Skilled masons built the granite harbours,
Offering safety from the stormy tide.
When Cornwall called, they stood as one,
Trelwney's army! Side by side.

Though hardship now is pressed upon us
The heart of Cornwall beats within.
From deepest mine to highest moorland,
It beats in copper, fish, and tin.
And though throughout the world we're scattered,
Our passion for Cornwall still remains.
When Cornwall calls, we'll stand as one,
Trelawney's army! One again.

I'm sure that one day in the future,
When most of us are dead and gone.
Young men will hold St Piran's banner,
And sing the great Trelawney song.
And, as Cornishmen before them,
They'll steadfastly defend this land.
When Cornwall calls, they'll stand as one,
Trelawney's army! Rise again.


Copyright Harry (Safari) Glasson

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Bury me when I die

Chorus

Bury me when I die
Upon a hillside high
So that I can look down from above
To the meadow and the moor
And the craggy Cornish shore
That surrounds this granite county that I love

Where the old mine chimneys rise
And are pointing to the sky's
Where the gorse is blooming golden in the spring
Where bronze age men of old
Built their shelters from the cold
On that hillside where the meadow larks will Sing

Chorus

Where the kestrels glide the breeze
And the busy honey bees
On the perfumed autumn heather get their fill
Where the evening sun will shine
On the yellow Celandine
Please bury me right up there on the hill

Chorus

And from my lofty perch
I will look out ore the church
To the harbour lights reflected in the sea
Where the fishing boats will ride
Bobbing gently on the tide
Please up there on the hillside bury me

Chorus

On the hillside I shall hear
The hymns I hold so dear
From the chapel in the valley down below
Oh how happy I shall be
Nearer my god to thee
On the hillside, in the Cornwall, I love so.


Copyright Harry (Safari) Glasson and P.Julian

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