When I'm ridin' alone in the night-time way out on the desolate range,
With the moon shinin' down through the cloud-hills and canyons and draws lookin' strange,
And the shadowy buttes loomin' dimly way out where the coyotes call,
I know that the hand of no human conceived it and fashioned it all,
When I'm lopin' across the wide mesa where blossoms send out their perfume,
I know that an All Wise Creator had somethin' to do with each bloom,
'Cuz no mortal hand on this planet could paint us them colors I know,
Nor spangle the coulees and foot hills With all the gay posies that grow,
I know that the green of the ranges don't come at the biddin' of man,
The landscape makes all of them changes because of the creators plan,
I know that the beauties about me-the sunshine, the blooms and the rest,
Wa'nt put there by man nor his helpers, but at the good Lord's own behest,
And night's when I lie at the campfire and look at the stars in the sky,
I'm ready to own that no human made all of the planets on high,
But only the Boss of the Heavens reached down from the Home Ranch above,
And moulded and builded and fashioned the blossoms and ranges I love.
Earl Alonzo Brininstool
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