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An old
cowboy and a preacher met
on the prairie one day,
One
ridin' a buckskin- the
other a bay.
They
squatted in the shade of a
lone cedar tree
Scratchin' the dirt,
contemplatin' you see.
Comparing their lives, and
the old cowboy, spoke
Of the
brands he'd ridden for,
the horses he'd broke
Of the
herds he had gathered and
held at all cost,
Of
hours spent riding when a
few were lost.
"You'd
give up your life when you
rode for the brand,
'Cause
of this we buried many a
good hand.
But as
you can see, I'm well past
my prime
And he
boss says I'll soon have
to draw my time.
What
can I do? I'm too tough to
cry,
But I'm
too old to work and I'm
too young to die."
The
preacher stirred the dirt
with his stick for awhile,
Then
looked the old cowboy in
the eye with a smile.
And
said, "I too ride for the
brand,
The
scars are the nail holes
in the palms of His hands.
I've
gathered a herd I'm
holding for my boss,
And I'm
always out looking for
those who are lost.
Many
have given their lives for
this brand,
And we
all may be called on to
take a stand.
But
you're never too old to
ride with my crew,
When
you sign on here you're
made as good as new."
Well,
the cowboy that day hired
on for a new boss
And his
foreman's the one who died
on the cross.
And he
can ride happy to the end
of his days
'Cause
there's no end to the
gatherin' of the lost and
the strays.
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AUTHOR UNKNOWN, FROM
THE INTERNET
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