Lennavan-mo, Lennavan-mo, Who is it swinging you to and fro, With a long low swing and a sweet low croon, And the loving words of the mother's rune? Lennavan-mo, Lennavan-mo, Who is it swinging you to and fro? I am thinking it is an angel fair, The Angel that looks on the gulf from the lowest stair And swings the green world upward by its leagues of sunshine hair. Lennavan-mo, Lennavan-mo, Who swingeth you and the Angel to and fro? It is He whose faintest thought is a world afar, It is He whose wish is a leaping seven-moon'd star, It is He, Lennavan-mo, To whom you and I and all things flow. Lennavan-mo, Lennavan-mo, It is only a little wee lass you are, Eilidh-mo-chree, But as this wee blossom has roots in the depths of the sky, So you are at one with the Lord of eternity-- Bonnie wee lass that you are, My morning star, Eilidh-mo-chree, Lennavan-mo, Lennavan-mo. |