A man of the west was Buffalo Bill
American, plainsman and scout.
His marksmanship and equestrian skill
Were neither in question nor doubt.
His six-guns produced a deaf-dealing din.
His Winchester boomed with a roar.
The bison, now bound where freedom had been,
Shall wander the prairies no more.
His fame, unrecalled, has long been at rest.
No traces of glory remain.
His coursers, by far, the best in the West,
Are scattered as dust in the rain.
He gathered the gold of glorious fame,
And flashed like a nova at night.
He moiled and he toiled for worldly acclaim,
But vanished, like vapor, from sight.
Away with all charms that lead to pretense,
Bid grandeur and glory depart!
Abide in that hope: seek heavenly sense,
Deep down in the depths of your heart.