Ridin’ for the Brand
and Other Verses
By Buck Wehrbein
Here are five poems, with their introductory materials, from Ridin’ for the Brand and Other Verses. After you read them you will be invited to purchase the e-book for $4.00. Contact us at email@example.com and we will email it you, hopefully on the next business day, in an Adobe® Reader®, pdf file. If you do not have a version of Adobe® Reader®, download at no charge from www.adobe.com.
The first two paperback printings sold out, with copies also given away by Buck as part of his ministry. But we are pleased to be able to continue spreading his work, and the Word, with his e-book. As Buck says…
The purpose of this book is to lift up Jesus and glorify God. I held the pen, but the Holy Ghost did the writing. Any knowledge or skill that I have is a gift from God. I give Him all praise and all glory.
Buck has passed away, but we are keeping this at our site in his honor. He was one of the finest men in the world. We are not sad, for we know he is but free to explore even wider landscapes now.
Copyright © 1999 Buck Wehrbein
4302 W. 51st #121
Amarillo, Texas 79109-6159
Ridin’ for the Brand
and Other Verses
Judge not, that you be not judged.
But many that are first shall be last: and the last first.
It is only by the love, grace and mercy of God, through Jesus’ blood, that I am redeemed, delivered and set free from the curse of sin and death.
I had a dream the other night,
and in that dream, I died.
Angels took me to Heaven,
and the gate was open wide.
There I saw a bunch of folks
that I had known on Earth.
Some I had judged and labeled
no account and not much worth.
I wanted to fuss, but I said not a word,
because it was plain to see,
all of them looked real surprised,
cause no one expected me.
I saw by night, and behold a man riding upon a red horse.…
And Adah bore Jabal: he was the father of such as dwell in tents, and of such as have cattle.
In the spring of 1968, I paid $160.00 for a chestnut sorrel horse. I called him Frank. He made one of the best cow horses I ever rode, and I’ve rode a bunch of ‘em. I wrote this poem in the summer of ‘93. He went home to the Lord in the spring of ‘96. He was 34 years old and he died fat.
ODE TO FRANK
You’re a wall-eyed, tough-mouth mustang
and you sure wasn’t easy to break,
but you’re tougher than any horse I ever rode
and you’re quick as a rattlesnake.
Remember the time when I went broke
in the spring of ‘77?
That’s when I finally bellied up
and lifted my eyes to Heaven.
I couldn’t make it on my own,
so I give it all to the Lord.
I asked Jesus to take control of my life,
like He said He would in His Word.
I sold most everything I had,
‘ceptin’ you, you ornery hide.
I asked the Lord to let me keep you,
till you went on your last ride.
When it comes to cuttin’ cattle,
you sure do it neat.
There was never one got by you,
‘less it was too slick to stay on your feet.
Sometimes your belly was right in the dirt,
or leanin’ way over on your side.
When you got in front of a snaky cow,
you sure was hard to ride.
I’ve dropped my loop on a lot of stock,
that was big and wild and rough.
No matter how they jerked you around,
you never hollered, “Enough!”
When tied on to them rank outlaws,
you never cut ‘em no slack
and it sure did make you happy
when you flipped one on its back.
The time when you got stifled
and it looked like you was through,
cause everyone knows, for a stifled horse,
there’s nothin’ a man can do.
So I claimed the Lord’s healing for you;
there was nothin’ else to do.
And sure enough, in about a week,
you was just as good as new.
So, I guess, today old pal,
if Ross Perot should come
with all the money that he controls
and want to buy you, you bum,
I’d laugh out loud and pat your neck
and look him right in the eye
and say, “I wouldn’t sell you this darned old wreck,
for all your wealth, goodbye.”
Cause we’ve cut ‘em and roped ‘em and drug ‘em out,
in the dry and in the wet,
and it took a heap of ridin’
just to make you jerk a sweat.
There ain’t enough money to buy from me
a pardner like you have been.
So I reckon we’ll stick together, pal,
till one of us cashes in.
Your wiry and tough and full of try,
and in that good lookin’ head, I’m tellin’,
there’s a lot of savvy and sense.
And your heart is big as a watermelon.
So thank you, Lord, for all we shared,
and all the wars we won,
and Frank will be runnin’ with Jesus
when his work down here is done.
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights.
Trust in the Lord, and do good….Delight yourself also in the Lord and he shall give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way unto the Lord; trust also in him and he shall bring it to pass.
God is the source of all supply. He wants to bless us exceedingly more than we can even think to ask. We need not fear. The spirit of fear comes from Satan. We can overcome through Christ who strengthens us.
COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS
Me and my pal was visitin’
about horses we’ve rode, and such,
and how it’s plumb amazin’
that times have changed so much.
He says, “Say, wouldn’t it be fine
to make another round—
go back and be 18 again,
and know what we know now?”
I says, “Well, they’s no use wishin’
for things that might have been, but
I’d sooner be 18 and know
what I thought I knew back then.”
But You know I’m just talkin’, Lord—
one trip down here is enough.
But I’m not fussin’, cause it weren’t Your fault,
the times when things were tough.
When I looked to You for guidance,
everything went smoothly on;
when I took off and done it my way,
that’s when the wreck was on.
I’ve got good friends and real good health,
and a good wife, everyone knows.
All my needs are met, and like
Your Word says, my cup just overflows.
You loaned me a lot of good horses to ride,
and made me a pretty good hand,
and it’s sure been quite a party,
livin’ in Your Western land.
Now we’ve got computers and spaceships—
everything state of the art.
Everything ought to be fine, but it’s not,
cause You’re not livin’ in most folks’ hearts.
We’ve got crime, pornography and abortion,
no morals, child abuse and divorce;
the jails are all full and overflowing
and it just keeps a’gettin’ worse.
But it’s a good life, a day at a time,
if I keep my eyes on You
and remember all Your promises,
cause I know Your Word is true.
So thank You, Lord, for all we receive,
and thank You for dying for us,
and thank You, Lord, that I wasn’t born
no later than I was.
And God saw everything that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.
For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills.
Folks say that cowboy songs are sad and lonely, but if Jesus is the Lord of your life, you are never alone, and the joy of the Lord is your strength.
THE BIG, HIGH LONESOME
When you’re out in the big, high lonesome
where the air is clean and clear,
the country sort of hems you in,
with a silence you can almost hear.
Out in the big, high lonesome,
you hear the call of a bird;
your saddle creakin’ and hoofbeats
are the only sounds that’re heard.
Bein’ out in that big alone
fills me with joy and peace.
Nobody there ‘cept the Lord and me,
and a good horse between my knees.
The high lonesome’s not no single place—
it’s anywhere that’s about the same
as it was back when the Lord made it,
long before the white man came.
It might be way up in the mountains,
where the aspen and pines grow tall,
or out in the high desert country
with the cholla and cedars and all.
Or maybe out on the rollin’ plains,
where mirages come and go,
or the Arizona desert,
where the tall saguaros grow.
This big, high lonesome country
will bring a man to his knees,
surrounded by God’s creation
for as far as you can see.
I remember that Christ left His glory
to redeem us cause we were lost.
To shed His blood for a sacrifice
and die on that old rugged cross.
When I think about Jesus’ love,
it makes me want to cry;
I drop the reins and lift my hands,
to worship the Lord on high.
Sure, I worship God, wherever I am.
But there’s no place I’d rather be
than out in the big, high lonesome—
just the Lord, my horse and me.
For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, powers, the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.
For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.
If the Son therefore shall make you free, you shall be free indeed.
When I started to write this, I didn’t know that it would tell my life story:
I am not what I want to be.
I am not what I expect to be.
But, praise the Lord, I am not what I used to be.
RIDIN’ FOR THE BRAND, THE
PITCHFORK, OR THE CROSS
When I was a kid, just starting out,
tryin’ to make a hand,
one of the things I learned about
was ridin’ for the brand.
When a feller rode for an outfit,
he was loyal to what they done.
If you didn’t like how they done it,
you just rolled your bed and moved on.
But I didn’t know, that in this life,
there’s only two ways to go.
One outfit is up in Heaven, and
the other is way down below.
Old Satan owns the pitchfork brand;
boy howdy, is he slick.
He is the father of liars,
and he knows every trick.
He says, if it feels good do it,
there is really no right or wrong.
And he will control everything you do,
if you ride for him very long.
Well, I rode for him a long time
and it wasn’t no life of ease.
By the world’s standards I was doin’ fine,
but I never knew any peace.
Then things commenced to goin’ wrong,
got plumb out of control.
And it wasn’t very long
till I was deep in the hole.
That is when I hollered, “Calf Rope!”
I knew I had the wrong boss.
So I sold out to Jesus and
started ridin’ for the cross.
He said, “Come, cast all your cares on me;
I am your Lord, and Savior and friend.
I make all things work together for good,
and there is nothing I can’t mend.”
So, I ask Him to run things every day
and I tell the old, old story,
about how much the Lord loves you and me,
and I am ridin’ to give Him glory.
I’m proud He come and made me whole.
He sure is a real fine boss.
So, till He’s ready to take me home,
I’ll keep ridin’ for that old rugged cross.
We hope you enjoyed the five poems. Please purchase the e-book for $4.00. Contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org and we will email it to you. Below are the contents page and the “About the Poet” page.
JUDGE NOT 5
ODE TO FRANK 6
LET HIS LIGHT SHINE 10
THE GIFT OF LIFE 11
WE WILL ALWAYS BE PROVIDED FOR 13
ODE TO DUKE 15
COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS 17
THE BIG, HIGH LONESOME 19
GIVING THANKS 21
JESUS’ BIRTHDAY 23
IN THE WORLD, NOT OF IT 25
A RUSHING MIGHTY WIND 27
RIDE FOR THE BRAND, THE PITCHFORK,
OR THE CROSS 29
GOD HAS A PLAN 32
About the Poet
I was born in a farmhouse eight miles west of Murray, Nebraska, February 7, 1932. I was born again when I met Jesus on February 3, 1977. I started riding when I was four years old, and I have worked with cattle and horses most of my life. I am a Christian, cowman, horseman and poet. And I am blessed. The Lord has given me excellent health, a fine wife, a healthy family and good horses to ride. Surely my cup is running over.
Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: that your joy may be full.
John 14:27 and 16:24