Come you young men, come you girls of the springtime,
Come hand in hand across the green land
To greet this new day with the music of singing,
The valley so wide and the mountains so grand.
The troubles and fuss of the times we are born in
We'll lay to one side and let them pass by,
Crawl out from your sleeping bag on this bright morning
For the lark she is risen into the blue sky.
To the clattering and rattling of rusty old pushbikes,
To the plod of our walking boots as the day starts
With dust on our faces, who cares what we look like
The music of England will rise from our hearts.
There's mouth-organ music and melodious melodeons,
There's Tom the mad fiddler with never a care,
Little tin whistles and thumping great accordions
And best of all dancers with steps light as air.
Once long ago you well could have found us
All in the tall cities of England the green,
But now that we've seen all the beauty around us
With wide awake eyes we will sing out our dream.
The brambly briar and the wild rose of Albion,
Entangled, embracing in every hedgerow
Rejoicing, resplendent on King Arthur's Island,
Beside ancient highways we ramble and grow.