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Frontier ballads
But he'd got her up to ropin' range
An' we hauled her to the rail. When he'd landed the last one, safe an' sound, Jake follered, an' says, as he looked around, "You fellers fetch out that jug you found,
I'm as dry as the Mormon Trail!"
Well, stranger, that there is the yarn o' Jake,
Jake Dale, o' the "Lucky George." He wasn't no saint with a gilt-edged crown; His language would shatter a church-steeple down; He'd a thirst in his throat that nothin' could drown,
An' a fist like a blacksmith's forge.
But, all the same, he'd a Christian soui
If he hadn't the Christian creed, An' a better heart, by a blame long shot. Than some pious folks that brag a lot On savin' their souls, but haven't got
No time fer their brother's need.
An' I reckon the Lord has found a place
In the Kingdom o' the Lamb Fer the man that cast his own fears by An' showed that he wasn't afeared to die Fer the sake of a frightened baby's cry,
That night o' the big ice jam. |
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