Lord, save me from the stench of city streets Where men must toil to earn their daily bread. Give me clean air that comes from snow-clad peaks, Filtered thru golden sunshine and the dew, Give me long, rolling sweeps of bunch-grass, hills, Where cattle fatten for the city mart. Give me the pungent scent of rain-drenched sage, A boisterous wind that whistles thru the trees. Give me the music of the lowing herd, the bawling of the calves in branding pen, give me a willing horse between my legs, Companionship of loyal friends, though few. Give me a home where loved ones nightly gather. In sweet communion, free from guile or sham. And when my time shall come to cash my checks, I pray hat you may find my record clear, For I have served thee Lord, as best I could With the only creed I knew, the Golden Rule. So let me rest high on some rocky hill, Where I may keep eternal vigil still; My only requiem the coyote's yelp, the meadow-lark's melodious trill.