You walk un scathed through mus ket fire,

no plough man’s blade will cut thee down.

No cut ler’s horn will mark thy face

and you will be my ain true love,

and you will be my ain true love.

And as you walk through death’s dark veil,

the can non’s thun der can’t pre vail.

And in those who hunt thee down will fail,

and I’ve you will be my ain true love,

and you will be my ain true love.

A sleep in (Ab5)side the can (F5)non’s (Bb5)mouth,

the (Ab5)cap tain (G5)cries, “Here comes (Bb5)the (C5)rout.”

They’ll seek to (Gm)find me (Ab5)North and (Bb5)South.

I’ve (C5)gone to (Gm)find (Ab)my (Fsus2)ain true love.

The field is love.