I left the State of Texas, for Arizona I was bound; I landed in Tombstone City, I viewed the place all round. Money and work were plentiful and the cowboys they were kind But the only thought of my heart was the girl I left behind. One day as I was riding across the public square The mail-coach came in and I met the driver there; He handed me a letter which gave me to understand That the girl I left in Texas had married another man. I turned myself all round and about not knowing what to do, But I read on down some further and it proved the words were true. Hard work I have laid over, it's gambling I have designed. I'll ramble this wide world over for the girl I left behind. Come all you reckless and rambling boys who have listened to this song, If it hasn't done you any good, it hasn't done you any wrong; But when you court a pretty girl, just marry her while you can, For if you go across the plains she'll marry another man. THE COWBOY AT CHURCH Some time ago,--two weeks or more If I remember well,-- I found myself in town and thought I'd knock around a spell, When all at once I heard the bell,-- I didn't know 'twas Sunday,-- For on the plains we scarcely know A Sunday from a Monday,-- A-calling all the people From the highways and the hedges And all the reckless throng That tread ruin's ragged edges, To come and hear the pastor tell Salvation's touching story, And how the new road misses hell And leads you straight to glory. I started by the chapel door, But something urged me in, And told me not to spend God's day In revelry and sin. I don't go much on sentiment, But tears came in my eyes. It seemed just like my mother's voice Was speaking from the skies. I thought how often she had gone With little Sis and me To church, when I was but a lad Way back in Tennessee. It never once occurred to me About not being dressed In Sunday rig, but carelessly I went in with the rest. You should have seen the smiles and shrugs As I went walking in, As though they thought my leggins Worse than any kind of sin; Although the honest parson, In his vestry garb arrayed Was dressed the same as I was,-- In the trappings of his trade. The good man prayed for all the world And all its motley crew, For pagan, Hindoo, sinners, Turk, And unbelieving Jew,-- Though the congregation doubtless thought That the cowboys as a race Were a kind of moral outlaw With no good claim to grace. Is it very strange that cowboys are A rough and reckless crew When their garb forbids their doing right As Christian people do? That they frequent scenes of revelry Where death is bought and sold, Where at least they get a welcome Though it's prompted by their gold?