John Murphy, of New Brunswick, Canada, first sang this for me in some dark field near our borders. Said the tune was from Tchaikovsky and the words were, more recently, from Bill Caddick, of England. {Usually it works the other way around - those folks get their good tunes from us-folk.) I think we {or I) missed something, a whole line, probably, in the second verse, so I covered it up by making the rover a "she." our gratitude to all of the above. Oh - and if you think you're hearing "peepers" in the background, you're probably right. They were so loud the night we recorded this that no closed windows could keep them from joining us. Kind of welcome, considering the song. (GB)
When midnight comes, good people homeward
tread;
Seek now your blankets and your feather bed.
Home is the rover, his journey's over.
Yield up the nighttime to old John of Dreams,
Yield up the nighttime to old John of Dreams.
Across the hills the sun has gone astray;
Tomorrow's cares are many dreams away.
Home is the rover, her journey's over.
Yield up the darkness to old John of Dreams,
Yield up the darkness to old John of Dreams.
Both Man and Master in the night are one;
All things are equal when the day is done.
The Prince and the plowman, the slave and
the freeman,
All find their comfort in old John of Dreams,
All find their comfort in old John of Dreams.
Now as you sleep the dreams come winging
clear;
The hawks of morning cannot harm you here.
Sleep is a river, flows on forever,
And for your boatman choose old John of Dreams,
And for your boatman choose old John of Dreams.