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?