A Way Of Life
Why do you live out here they asked
As they entered our gravel drive.
“Don’t you like civilization,
Don’t you want to feel alive?”
I told them I live in a mountain flower,
In a million blades of grass,
In a stately pine or a twisted fir
High on a windy pass.
In a winding stream or a quiet lake
Close by a mountain high,
Whose timbered slopes and steep, sheer cliffs
Seem to pierce the very sky.
I live in the heart of an honest horse,
As he plods his weary way
O’er rocky trails, ‘neath heavy loads
From dawn ‘til the close of day.
In the rhythmic bob of heavy packs,
As I look back over the string.
When we make our way to our mountain camp
Far from cars and towns and such things.
I live in a rambling country house
That my dear ones all call home.
In its quiet walls by its cheery hearth,
Many happy hours we’ve known.
It’s true I care not for the city,
With its hustle, bustle and strife.
I’ll live out here and feel close to God
Happy in this way of life.
The Outfitter’s Prayer
OH LORD, NO MAN-MADE PORTALS SHOW YOUR REALM TO ME,
I SEE IT IN MY LIFE IN SPACES WIDE.
WHERE TOWERING MOUNTAINS REAR THEIR HEAD IN TRIBUTE,
BEYOND THE QUIET PEACEFUL COUNTRYSIDE.
IT’S HERE I SEE THE WONDERS OF CREATION,
FROM BUD TO LEAF, FROM TWIG TO STATELY TREE.
THE GROWTH OF THINGS FROM HUMBLEST BEGINNING,
CAN ONLY HELP INSTILL HUMILITY.
THE BALANCE OF THE POWERS YOU CREATED,
THE TUMBLING STREAM CONTAINED BY QUIET LAKE,
THE GENTLE BREEZE THAT’S ALL THERE IS REMAINING,
OF HIGH, WILD WINDS THE MOUNTAINS TURN AND BRAKE.
PLEASE HELP ME FIND THE TRAIL THAT WEARS YOUR BLAZES,
AND GUIDE ME ‘TILL THE CLOUDS OF TROUBLE PASS.
MAKE ME AS BIG AS MOUNTAINS HIGH ABOVE ME,
YET HUMBLE AS THE SMALLEST BLADE OF GRASS.
JUST LET ME BE AS HONEST AS MY PONY,
AND LEAD A STRING FOR CAMPS ALONG THE WAY,
TO HELP OUT THOSE WHO MAY NOT HAVE AN OUTFIT,
SO ALL WHO CAN MAY REACH THE PASS SOMEDAY.