When I think of the last great round-up On the eve of eternity's dawn, I think of the past of the cowboys Who have been with us here and are gone. And I wonder if any will greet me On the sands of the evergreen shore With a hearty, "God bless you, old fellow," That I've met with so often before.
I think of the big-hearted fellows Who will divide with you blanket and bread, With a piece of stray beef well roasted, And charge for it never a red. I often look upward and wonder If the green fields will seem half so fair, If any the wrong trail have taken And fail to "be in" over there.
For the trail that leads down to perdition Is paved all the way with good deeds, But in the great round-up of ages, Dear boys, this won't answer your needs. But the way to the green pastures, though narrow, Leads straight to the home in the sky, And Jesus will give you the passports To the land of the sweet by and by.
For the Savior has taken the contract To deliver all those who believe, At the headquarters ranch of his Father, In the great range where none can deceive. The Inspector will stand at the gateway And the herd, one by one, will go by,-- The round-up by the angels in judgment Must pass 'neath his all-seeing eye.
No maverick or slick will be tallied In the great book of life in his home, For he knows all the brands and the earmarks That down through the ages have come. But, along with the tailings and sleepers, The strays must turn from the gate; No road brand to gain them admission, But the awful sad cry "too late."
Yet I trust in the last great round-up When the rider shall cut the big herd, That the cowboys shall be represented In the earmark and brand of the Lord, To be shipped to the bright, mystic regions Over there in green pastures to lie, And led by the crystal still waters In that home of the sweet by and by.