ROSIN THE BOW

I live for the good of my nation And my sons are all growing low, But I hope that my next generation Will resemble Old Rosin the Bow.

I have traveled this wide world all over, And now to another I'll go, For I know that good quarters are waiting To welcome Old Rosin the Bow.

The gay round of delights I have traveled, Nor will I behind leave a woe, For while my companions are jovial They'll drink to Old Rosin the Bow.

This life now is drawn to a closing, All will at last be so, Then we'll take a full b.u.mper at parting To the name of Old Rosin the Bow.

When I am laid out on the counter, And the people all anxious to know, Just raise up the lid of the coffin And look at Old Rosin the Bow.

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 sh.o.r.e With a hearty, "G.o.d 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 pa.s.sports 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 pa.s.s '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 la.s.so, 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, And heavy rain drops splatter, and rolling thunders crash; What keeps the herd from running, stampeding far and wide?

The cowboy's long, low whistle and singing by their side.

"When in Kansas City, our boss he pays us up, We loaf around the city and take a parting cup; We bid farewell to city life, from noisy crowds we come, And back to dear old Texas, the cowboy's native home."

Oh, he is coming back to marry the only girl he loves, He says I am his darling, I am his own true love; Some day we two will marry and then no more he'll roam, But settle down with Mary in a cozy little home.

"Ho, I'm a jolly cowboy, from Texas now I hail, Give me my bond to Mary, I'll quit the Lone Star trail.

I love the rolling prairies, they're free from care and strife, But I'll quit the herd of longhorns for the sake of my little wife."

The Texas Cowboy (Mus. Not.)

Mrs. Robert Thomson

I am a Tex-as Cowboy, Light-hearted, gay and free, To roam the wide, wide prairie, Is always joy to me; My trust-y lit-tle po-ny Is my com-pan-ion true; O'er plain, thro' woods and river, He's sure to "pull me thro."

CHORUS

_Allegro_

I am a jol-ly cow-boy, From Tex-as now I hail, Give me my "quirt" and po-ny, I'm read-y for the "trail;"

I love the roll-ing prairie, We're free from care and strife, Be-hind a herd of "long-horns" I'll journey all my life.

THE CONVICT

When slumbering In my convict cell my childhood days I see, When I was mother's little child and knelt at mother's knee.

There my life was peace, I know, I knew no sorrow or pain.

Mother dear never did think, I know, I would wear a felon's chain.

Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink, Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?

Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink, Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?