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Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads
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And when through the streets my friends bear me,
And the ladies are filled with deep woe,
They'll come to the doors and the windows
And sigh for Old Rosin the Bow.
Then get some fine, jovial fellows,
And let them all staggering go;
Then dig a deep hole in the meadow
And in it toss Rosin the Bow.
Then get a couple of dornicks,
Place one at my head and my toe,
And do not forget to scratch on them,
"Here lies Old Rosin the Bow."
Then let those same jovial fellows
Surround my lone grave in a row,
While they drink from my favorite bottle
The health of Old Rosin the Bow.
THE GREAT ROUND-UP
When I think of the last great round-up
On the eve of eternity's dawn,
I think of the past of the cowboys
Who have been with us here and are gone.
And I wonder if any will greet me
On the sands of the evergreen shore
With a hearty, "God bless you, old fellow,"
That I've met with so often before.
I think of the big-hearted fellows
Who will divide with you blanket and bread,
With a piece of stray beef well roasted,
And charge for it never a red.
I often look upward and wonder
If the green fields will seem half so fair,
If any the wrong trail have taken
And fail to "be in" over there.
For the trail that leads down to perdition
Is paved all the way with good deeds,
But in the great round-up of ages,
Dear boys, this won't answer your needs.
But the way to the green pastures, though narrow,
Leads straight to the home in the sky,
And Jesus will give you the passports
To the land of the sweet by and by.
For the Savior has taken the contract
To deliver all those who believe,
At the headquarters ranch of his Father,
In the great range where none can deceive.
The Inspector will stand at the gateway
And the herd, one by one, will go by,—
The round-up by the angels in judgment
Must pass 'neath his all-seeing eye.
No maverick or slick will be tallied
In the great book of life in his home,
For he knows all the brands and the earmarks
That down through the ages have come.
But, along with the tailings and sleepers,
The strays must turn from the gate;
No road brand to gain them admission,
But the awful sad cry "too late."
Yet I trust in the last great round-up
When the rider shall cut the big herd,
That the cowboys shall be represented
In the earmark and brand of the Lord,
To be shipped to the bright, mystic regions
Over there in green pastures to lie,
And led by the crystal still waters
In that home of the sweet by and by.
THE JOLLY COWBOY
My lover, he is a cowboy, he's brave and kind and true,
He rides a Spanish pony, he throws a lasso, too;
And when he comes to see me our vows we do redeem,
He throws his arms around me and thus begins to sing:
"Ho, I'm a jolly cowboy, from Texas now I hail,
Give me my quirt and pony, I'm ready for the trail;
I love the rolling prairies, they're free from care and strife,
Behind a herd of longhorns I'll journey all my life.
"When early dawn is breaking and we are far away,
We fall into our saddles, we round-up all the day;
We rope, we brand, we ear-mark, I tell you we are smart,
And when the herd is ready, for Kansas then we start.
"Oh, I am a Texas cowboy, lighthearted, brave, and free,
To roam the wide, wide prairie, 'tis always joy to me.
My trusty little pony is my companion true,
O'er creeks and hills and rivers he's sure to pull me through.
"When threatening clouds do gather and herded lightnings flash,
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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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