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THE BIBLICAL COWBOY s |
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For want of an oven I cook bread in a pot, And sleep on the ground for want of a cot.
My ceiling the sky, my floor is the grass, My music is the lowing herds as they pass; My books are the brooks, my sermons the stones; My parson the wolf on his pulpit of bones.
And then, if cooking is not complete, You can't blame me for wanting to eat. But show me a man that sleeps more profound Than the big puncher-boy stretching out on the ground.
My books teach me ever consistence to prize, My sermons that small things I should not despise; My parson remarks from his pulpit of bones That fortune favors those who look out for their own.
And then between me and love lies a gulf wide: Some lucky fellow may call her his bride. My friends gently hint I am coming to grief, But men must make money and women have beef.
But Cupid is always a friend to the bold,
And the best of his arrows are pointed with gold.
As society bans me, so savage I dodge,
And the Masons would ball me out of their lodge.
If I had hair on my chin I might pass for the goat That bore all the sins in the ages remote; But why it is I cannot understand, That each of the patriarchs owned a big brand. |
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