Earl Alonzo Brininstool

A Range Rider's Appeal

Guard me, Lord, when I'm a -ridin'
'Crost the dusty range out there,
From the dangers that are hidin'
On the trails, so bleak and bare.
Keep my stumblin' feet from walkin'
In the quicksands of distress,
And my outlaw tongue from talkin'
Locoed words of foolishness.
When around the herd I'm moggin'
In the darkness of the night,
Or 'crost lonely mesas joggin'
With no one but You in sight,
Won't you ride, dear Lord, beside me,
When I see the danger sign,
And through storm and stampede guide me,
With Your hand a-holdin' mine?
May the rope of sin ne'er trip me
When to town for fun I go;
Let the devil's herders skip me
On their round-ups here below.
May my trails be decked in beauty
With the blossoms of Your love;
May I see and do my duty,
Ere I ride the range above.
Let me treat my foes with kindness'
May my hands from blood be free;
May I never, through sheer blindness,
Git the brand o' Cain on me.
On the range o' glory feed me'
Guide me over draw and swell,
And at last to heaven lead me,
Up into the Home Corral.