Classic Poem

Sometimes when on night-herd I'm ridin', and the stars are a-gleam in the sky,
Like millions of wee, little candles that twinkle and sparkle on high,
I wonder, if up there among 'em, are streets that are shinin' with gold,
And if it's as purty a country as all the sky-pilots hev told?

I wonder if there are wide ranges, and rivers and streams that's as clear,
And plains that's as blossomed with beauty as them that I ride over here?
I wonder if summertime breezes up there are like zephyrs that blow
And croon in a cadence of sweetness and harmony down here below?

I wonder if there, Over Yonder, it's true that they's never no night,
But all of the hours are sunny and balmy and pleasant and bright?
I wonder if birds are a-singin' as sweetly through all the long day
As them that I hear on the mesa as I go a-lopin' away?

And sometimes I wonder and wonder if over that lone Great Divide
I'll meet with the boys who have journeyed across to the dim Farther Side?
If out on them great starry ranges some day in the future, I, too,
Shall ride on a heavenly bronco when earth's final round-up is through?

They tell us no storms nor no blizzards blow over that bloom-spangled range;
That always and ever it's summer — a land where there's never a change;
And nights when I lie in my blankets, and the star-world casts o'er me a spell,
I seem to look through on the glories that lie in that great Home Corral.