Classic Poem

Dead o' th' night an' th' moon rose pale
As th' face o' th' man we led along,
Over the hills th' long-drawn wail
Of a coyote-cry, like a funeral song.

Never a man of us spoke a word
As we tramped th' trail t' th' Lone Pine tree,
But a wind rose out o' th' dark an' stirred
Th' grass o' th' prairies mournfully.

Mile an' a half fr'm th' ol' log jail
T' th' Lone Pine tree at th' Devils Bend,
But a man don't speed on his final trail,
With a tree an' a rope at th' other end.

Two in front as we lef' th' jail,
Two behind an' two at th' side;
Then forward march f'r th' Lone Pine trail
Th' last this side o' th' Great Divide.

He walks along an' he knows th' plan,
An' seems resigned as a man can be;
F'r a life's a life, an' a man's a man.
A rope's a rope an' a tree's a tree.

Give him a plenty o' time t' walk,
Don' hurry a man on his final track;
Plenty o' room if he wants t' talk, —
F'r he stays thar when th' rest come back.

Stan' back, an' give him a chance t' pray,
He needs God's help in th' by an' by;
F'r a man will sin an' a man mus' pay,
But a man can't do no more'n die.

Grit yer teeth f'r th' struggle, Pard,
We'll make it quick as it can be made.
Down, down on th' other end thar! Hard!
A man has sinned an' a man has paid!

Th' hills are grim an' th' mornin's gray,
Thar's somethin' thar 'twixt th' sod an' sky.
A man will sin an' a man mus' pay,
But a man can't do no more'n die!