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The Dying Cowboy - Jules Verne Allen Whitter
Oh bury me not on the lone prairie
These words came low and mournfully
From the pouted lips of a youth who lay
On his dying bed at the close of day
He had wailed in pain till o'er his brow
Death's shadows fast were gathering now
He thought of his home and his loved ones nigh
As the cowboys gathered to see him die
Oh bury me not on the lone prairie
Where the wild cayotes howl he can howl o'er me
In a narrow grave just six by three
Oh bury me not on the lone prairie
It matters not though I've been told
Where the body lies when the heart grows cold
Yet grant oh grant this wish to me
Oh bury me not on the lone prairie
Oh bury me not and his voice failed there
But we took no heed of his dying prayer
In a narrow grave just six by three
We buried him there on the lone prairie
Oh we buried him there on the lone prairie
Where the wild rose blooms and the wind blows free
Oh his pale young face nevermore to see
For we buried him there on the lone prairie
And the cowboys now as they roam the plain
For they marked the spot where his bones were lain
Fling a handful of roses o'er his grave
With a prayer to him who his soul will save