Riding for the Brand:
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, and 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 the boss says I'll soon have to draw my time.
What can I do? I'm too tough to cry,
But I'm to old to work and I'm to 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.
He can ride happy to the end of his days,
'Cause there's no stopping the gatherin' of the lost and the strays.
-Author Unknown-
