Now O Lord please lend thine ear,
The prayer of the Cattleman to hear;
No doubt many prayers to thee seem strange,
But won't you bless this cattle range?
Bless the round-up year by year
And don't forget the growing steer;
Water the land with brooks and rills
For my cattle that roam a thousand hills.
Now, O Lord, won't you be good
And give our livestock plenty of food;
And to avert a winter's woe
Give Italian skies and little snow.
Prairie fires won't you please stop,
Let thunder roll and water drop,
It frightens me to see the smoke,
Unless it's stopped, I'll go dead broke.
As you, O Lord, our herds behold-
Which represents a sack of gold-
I think at least five cents per pound
Should be the price of beef year round.
One more thing and then I'm through,
Instead of one calf, give my cows two.
I may pray different than some others, but then
I've had my say, and now amen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.