THE COWBOY'S DREAM[2]

Last night as I lay on the prairie, And looked at the stars in the sky, I wondered if ever a cowboy Would drift to that sweet by and by.

Roll on, roll on; Roll on, little dogies, roll on, roll on, Roll on, roll on; Roll on, little dogies, roll on.

The road to that bright, happy region Is a dim, narrow trail, so they say; But the broad one that leads to perdition Is posted and blazed all the way.

They say there will be a great round-up, And cowboys, like dogies, will stand, To be marked by the Riders of Judgment Who are posted and know every brand.

I know there's many a stray cowboy Who'll be lost at the great, final sale, When he might have gone in the green pastures Had he known of the dim, narrow trail.

I wonder if ever a cowboy Stood ready for that Judgment Day, And could say to the Boss of the Riders, "I'm ready, come drive me away."

For they, like the cows that are locoed, Stampede at the sight of a hand, Are dragged with a rope to the round-up, Or get marked with some crooked man's brand.

And I'm scared that I'll be a stray yearling,-- A maverick, unbranded on high,-- And get cut in the bunch with the "rusties"

When the Boss of the Riders goes by.

For they tell of another big owner Whose ne'er overstocked, so they say, But who always makes room for the sinner Who drifts from the straight, narrow way.

They say he will never forget you, That he knows every action and look; So, for safety, you'd better get branded, Have your name in the great Tally Book.

[Footnote 2: Sung to the air of _My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean_.]

THE COWBOY'S LIFE[3]

The bawl of a steer, To a cowboy's ear, Is music of sweetest strain; And the yelping notes Of the gray cayotes To him are a glad refrain.

And his jolly songs Speed him along, As he thinks of the little gal With golden hair Who is waiting there At the bars of the home corral.

For a kingly crown In the noisy town His saddle he wouldn't change; No life so free As the life we see Way out on the Yaso range.

His eyes are bright And his heart as light As the smoke of his cigarette; There's never a care For his soul to bear, No trouble to make him fret.

The rapid beat Of his broncho's feet On the sod as he speeds along, Keeps living time To the ringing rhyme Of his rollicking cowboy song.

Hike it, cowboys, For the range away On the back of a bronc of steel, With a careless flirt Of the raw-hide quirt And a dig of a roweled heel!

The winds may blow And the thunder growl Or the breezes may safely moan;-- A cowboy's life Is a royal life, His saddle his kingly throne.

Saddle up, boys, For the work is play When love's in the cowboy's eyes,-- When his heart is light As the clouds of white That swim in the summer skies.

[Footnote 3: Attributed to James Barton Adams.]

THE KANSAS LINE

Come all you jolly cowmen, don't you want to go Way up on the Kansas line?

Where you whoop up the cattle from morning till night All out in the midnight rain.

The cowboy's life is a dreadful life, He's driven through heat and cold; I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes, A-ridin' through heat and cold.

I've been where the lightnin', the lightnin' tangled in my eyes, The cattle I could scarcely hold; Think I heard my boss man say: "I want all brave-hearted men who ain't afraid to die To whoop up the cattle from morning till night, Way up on the Kansas line."

Speaking of your farms and your shanty charms, Speaking of your silver and gold,-- Take a cowman's advice, go and marry you a true and lovely little wife, Never to roam, always stay at home; That's a cowman's, a cowman's advice, Way up on the Kansas line.

Think I heard the noisy cook say, "Wake up, boys, it's near the break of day,"-- Way up on the Kansas line, And slowly we will rise with the sleepy feeling eyes, Way up on the Kansas line.

The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life, All out in the midnight rain; I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes, Way up on the Kansas line.

THE COWMAN'S PRAYER

Now, O Lord, please lend me thine ear, The prayer of a cattleman to hear, No doubt the prayers may seem strange, But I want you to bless our cattle range.

Bless the round-ups year by year, And don't forget the growing steer; Water the lands with brooks and rills For my cattle that roam on a thousand hills.

Prairie fires, won't you please stop?

Let thunder roll and water drop.

It frightens me to see the smoke; Unless it's stopped, I'll go dead broke.

As you, O Lord, my herd behold, It represents a sack of gold; I think at least five cents a pound Will be the price of beef the year around.

One thing more and then I'm through,-- Instead of one calf, give my cows two.

I may pray different from other men But I've had my say, and now, Amen.

THE MINER'S SONG[4]

In a rusty, worn-out cabin sat a broken-hearted leaser, His singlejack was resting on his knee.

His old "buggy" in the corner told the same old plaintive tale, His ore had left in all his poverty.

He lifted his old singlejack, gazed on its battered face, And said: "Old boy, I know we're not to blame; Our gold has us forsaken, some other path it's taken, But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.