I am her only, cherished child, But tell her that I died Rejoicing that she taught me young To take my country's side.

"But, comrade, there's one more, She's gentle as a fawn; She lives upon the sloping hill That overlooks the lawn, The lawn where I shall never more Go forth with her in merry mood To gather wild-wood flowers.

"Tell her when death was on my brow And life receding fast, Her looks, her form was with me then, Were with me to the last.

On Buena Vista's b.l.o.o.d.y field Tell her I dying lay, And that I knew she thought of me Some thousand miles away."

WESTWARD HO

I love not Colorado Where the faro table grows, And down the desperado The rippling Bourbon flows;

Nor seek I fair Montana Of bowie-lunging fame; The pistol ring of fair Wyoming I leave to n.o.bler game.

Sweet poker-haunted Kansas In vain allures the eye; The Nevada rough has charms enough Yet its blandishments I fly.

Shall Arizona woo me Where the meek Apache bides?

Or New Mexico where natives grow With arrow-proof insides?

Nay, 'tis where the grizzlies wander And the lonely diggers roam, And the grim Chinese from the squatter flees That I'll make my humble home.

I'll chase the wild tarantula And the fierce cayote I'll dare, And the locust grim, I'll battle him In his native wildwood lair.

Or I'll seek the gulch deserted And dream of the wild Red man, And I'll build a cot on a corner lot And get rich as soon as I can.

A HOME ON THE RANGE

Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam, Where the deer and the antelope play, Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day.

Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day.

Where the air is so pure, the zephyrs so free, The breezes so balmy and light, That I would not exchange my home on the range For all of the cities so bright.

The red man was pressed from this part of the West, He's likely no more to return To the banks of Red River where seldom if ever Their flickering camp-fires burn.

How often at night when the heavens are bright With the light from the glittering stars, Have I stood here amazed and asked as I gazed If their glory exceeds that of ours.

Oh, I love these wild flowers in this dear land of ours, The curlew I love to hear scream, And I love the white rocks and the antelope flocks That graze on the mountain-tops green.

Oh, give me a land where the bright diamond sand Flows leisurely down the stream; Where the graceful white swan goes gliding along Like a maid in a heavenly dream.

Then I would not exchange my home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day.

Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day.

Home on the Range (Mus. Not.)

Oh, give me a home where the buf-fa-lo roam, Where the deer and the an-te-lope play;...

Where sel-dom is heard a dis-cour-ag-ing word And the skies are not cloud-y all day.

Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where sel-dom is heard a dis-cour-ag-ing word And the skies are not cloud-y all day.

TEXAS RANGERS

Come, all you Texas rangers, wherever you may be, I'll tell you of some troubles that happened unto me.

My name is nothing extra, so it I will not tell,-- And here's to all you rangers, I am sure I wish you well.

It was at the age of sixteen that I joined the jolly band, We marched from San Antonio down to the Rio Grande.

Our captain he informed us, perhaps he thought it right, "Before we reach the station, boys, you'll surely have to fight."

And when the bugle sounded our captain gave command, "To arms, to arms," he shouted, "and by your horses stand."

I saw the smoke ascending, it seemed to reach the sky; The first thought that struck me, my time had come to die.

I saw the Indians coming, I heard them give the yell; My feelings at that moment, no tongue can ever tell.

I saw the glittering lances, their arrows round me flew, And all my strength it left me and all my courage too.

We fought full nine hours before the strife was o'er, The like of dead and wounded I never saw before.

And when the sun was rising and the Indians they had fled, We loaded up our rifles and counted up our dead.

And all of us were wounded, our n.o.ble captain slain, And the sun was shining sadly across the b.l.o.o.d.y plain.

Sixteen as brave rangers as ever roamed the West Were buried by their comrades with arrows in their breast.

'Twas then I thought of mother, who to me in tears did say, "To you they are all strangers, with me you had better stay."

I thought that she was childish, the best she did not know; My mind was fixed on ranging and I was bound to go.

Perhaps you have a mother, likewise a sister too, And maybe you have a sweetheart to weep and mourn for you; If that be your situation, although you'd like to roam, I'd advise you by experience, you had better stay at home.

I have seen the fruits of rambling, I know its hardships well; I have crossed the Rocky Mountains, rode down the streets of h.e.l.l; I have been in the great Southwest where the wild Apaches roam, And I tell you from experience you had better stay at home.

And now my song is ended; I guess I have sung enough; The life of a ranger I am sure is very tough.

And here's to all you ladies, I am sure I wish you well, I am bound to go a-ranging, so ladies, fare you well.

THE MORMON BISHOP'S LAMENT