Death Of A Circuit Rider

The old man lay dying

His family was a cryying

His Bible was on the table

His old mare in the stable

His black suit waiting for the call

And his rifle was hanging in the hall.

 

People had come from all around,

And were camped on the ground.

Horses grazed in the pasture

While riders spoke of the hereafter.

They recalled events of days gone by,

And old men broke to cry,

As they spoke of a man they called Brother Bud.

 

"Why, he wuz as mean as a snake when I furst metim,

And hit jist didn do ta upsetim.

But then tha Lord gotim good,

An he started ta live likee shud"

 

"Why the furst time I heered im preach", said one,

I thought bout all tha thangs I'd done,

An repented ofem ever one!

I quit drinking and cussin an beatin ma wife,

An started ta live a bran new life!"

 

"Whos ata cumin up tha road?", asked one

As they saw a young man riding at a run.

"I thank ats at Styles boy.  Rides likim eneway."

And the young man stepped down from a Bay.

 

"Why son, whereye been?  Aint seen ya inawhile."

"My names Styles, Johnny Styles. Just call me Red.

"Why I know you", said one. "Ye tried ta killim witha gun."

Yessir", he said. "I tried to shoot him dead.

Cause I hated everything he said."

Red started to weep as he told his case,

And tears rolled down his face.

 

"He took me with him for a while",

And Red began to smile.

"He'd say, This used to be Dread,

But now he's jist Red."

He would point his finger at me,

For all the folks to see.

And, he'd say, This man knows tha Lord,

And he traded his Colt for a Sword."

 

A man tall and slim appeared at the door.

He looked at the people and then at the floor.

"My names Arthur,." He softly spoke the words.

It seemed to even silence the birds.

"Thank yall fer bein here, Pa jist died.

And said heud seeye on tha other side."

 

A soldier of the Lord,

Had just laid down his Sword,

His work was not gone,

Others would carry on,

Even some he'd never known.

 

 

 

 

 

His last sermon he had preached.

His last convert he had reached.

Behing him were the miles,

And gone were the smiles.

Gone were the cold nights

and gone were the hard fights.

 

Many friends had made a hard ride,

Now they waited just outside,

Praying for God to stretch the thread of life,

And to comfort the old preacher's wife.

The man who'd made the booze,

As he had nothing to lose,

Now sobbed beneath his old battered hat,

As he remembered that,

The old man had led him to the Lord.

 

A young man stood nearby.

He remembered as he cried,

How he had stuck a Colt to that old head,

But the barrel had spit no lead.

As he had pulled the trigger in vain,

His heard filled with pain.

But the preacher showed him love from the Father up above.

He gave up the gun,

To live for the Son,

And now was a preacher of The Word.

 

Soon the thread was broken

Not a word was spoken,

As the people mourned a man

They called Bud.