Circuit Rider
Praise the Father, praise the Son 
for this old Book and this old gun~We’ve fought Satan hand to hand 
from Bitter Creek to No Man’s Land~
I ride a Chickasaw pony, bred of Spanish stock~My steeple’s Shawnee Mountain, my altar’s Panther Rock~When the trumpet sounds, don’t give me wings~No long white robe, no angel choir~
Just let me rise on an old gray pony~
I’m the saddlebag preacher, the circuit rider~

I’ve preached His Word in fields and caves to trappers, heathens, thieves, and slaves~But blood is in the lung-spit now, this buckskin coat will be my shroud~Lord, You made me strong, now make me stronger~Don’t take me home, let me stay a little longer~ Chorus~

The journey’s done, my heart grows still, 
I lift my eyes unto these hills~Winding rivers, virgin woods— 
God made this earth and it was good~
God locked the gates of Eden, but before the iron swung shut~A gust of wind blew through the gap a swirl of shining dust~Chorus