Tipperty Primary School
Class Song composed by Primary 5/6/7
Tune: Auld Lang Syne
God luikit doon fae Heiven abeen
Through clouds o star an mist
An thocht He'd like tae makk a warld
An opened up His fist
First He created Day an Nicht
An Lan an Sky an Sea
An neist He mouldit Adam
Wi Eve fur company.
There wis a tree grew in yon place
Its aipple it wis banned
The serpent fuspered in Eve's lug
'Aa things ye'll understand
If ye should eat it ye'll be wise
As God fa made the warld
Bit God fand oot she'd ett the fruit
An fae Eden they war hurled.
The centuries rolled past like rikk
A star wis seen on high
Abeen a hummil byre-shed
In Bethlehem's starry sky.
There were 3 Wise Kings hyne awa
Cam traivellin fae afar
Wi gifts o frankincense an myrrh
Aa follaein thon star
Upon the parks ahin their flocks
The shepherds Angels saw
Fa telt them o a speecial birth
A littlin in a staa
The years fair flew as Jesus grew
An sune there cam a sign
Fin at the faimly waddin feast
The watter cheenged tae wine.
He raised the deid He cured the sick
He helped the blin tae see
An His disciples gathered roon
Fae shores o Galilee
Upon a cuddy's hairy back
Wi palms laid at His feet
Jerusalem it welcomed Him
Wi cheers in ilkie street
Tae hae their supper they hae met
An Jesus jyned them there
He booed Him doon tae wash their feet
Afore a meal they'd share.
He broke the breid, He poored the wine
'This is my bluiud,' said He
'An ilkie time ye taste o this
I'll ken ye've mind on Me,'
Bit Judas didna linger lang
Fur he hid crept awa
Tae meet the preists an tae betray
The gentle Lord o aa.
They waukit throw Gethsemane
The Lord booed doon tae pray
An Judas brocht the sodjers there
A kiss it shawed the wey
The Roman ruler, Pilot, tried
Tae let the Lord gyang freee
Barrabas wis the chosen ain
Tae win the priests' mercy
Upon thon fatefu dreidfu day
On the knowe o Calvary
Lord Jesus hung upon the cross
Tae set puir sinners free
They cut Him doon, they wrapped Him weel
They laid Him in the tomb
They sealed it wi a muckle steen
An left Him in the gloom
An on a Sunday mornin
The weemin fand Him gaen
The murdered Lord had raisen up
Tae owercam aa pain
An noo in Clouds o Glory
He sits at God's richt haun
Tae care fur aa the sinners
Doon on His Faither's lan.
O Easter is a speecial time
Fin aathin's fresh an green
We think o Jesus an rejoice
Fur aa His blissins gien.