Oh, our days have rode by fast
And life withers from the rose;
No thing will last forever—
A man’s youth will never last.
But it’s all planned, I suppose,
Yet we take it mighty hard;
It’s just in His perfect plan—
A truth that each old man knows.
So we seek out each old pard,
Knowing that life will soon fade,
As we ride above each cliff,
Finding growing old still hard.
Yes, cowboys cling to the shade
As they wait that final card;
Hold to memories that fade—
But Lord, it’s hard, it’s so hard.