Our gracious and heavenly Father,
We pause in the midst of this festive occasion,
mindful and thoughtful of the guidance that you have given us.

As cowboys, Lord, we don't ask for any special favors,
we ask only that you let us compete in this arena, as in lifes arena.
We don't ask to never break a barrier, or to draw a round of steer that's hard to throw,
or a chute fighting horse, or a bull that is impossible to ride.
We only ask that you help us to compete as honest as the horses we ride
and in a manner as clean and pure as the wind that blows across this great land of ours.

So when we do make that last ride that is inevitable for us all to make,
to that place up there, where the grass is green and lush and stirrup high,
and the water runs cool, clear, and deep -

You'll tell us as we ride in -- that our entry fees have been paid.

These things we ask -- Amen.

Oh, Lord, I've never lived where churches grow.
I love creation better as it stood
That day you finished it so long ago.
And looked upon your work and called it good.
I know that others might find You in the light
That's sifted down through tinted window panes,
And yet I seem to feel You near tonight.

Let me be easy on the man that's down;
Let me be square and generous with all.
I'm careless sometimes, Lord, when I'm in town,
But never let them say I'm mean or small!
Make me as big and open as the plains,
As honest as the hoss between my knees,
Clean as the wind that blows behind the rains,
Free as the hawk that circles down the breeze!

I thank you, Lord, that I am placed so well,
That you made my freedom so complete;
That I'm no slave to whistle, clock, or bell,
Nor weak-eyed prisoner of wall and street.
Just let me live my life as I've begun
And give me work that is open to the sky;
Make me a pardner of the wind and sun,
And I won't ask a life that's soft or high.

Forgive me, Lord, if sometimes I forget.
You know about the reasons that are hid.
You understand the things that gall and fret;
You know me better than my mother did.
Just keep an eye on all that's done and said
And right me, sometimes, when I turn aside,
And guide me on the long, dim trail ahead
That stretches upward toward the Great Divide.

See more of Tomy Mitchell's Cowboy Poetry at http://www.gilanet.com/tjramblin

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