Jims Whip

Yes, there it hangs upon the wall     And never gives a sound,     The hand that trimmed its greenhide fall     Is hidden underground,     There, in that patch of sally shade,     Beneath that grassy mound.     I never take it from the wall,     That whip belonged to him,     The man I singled from them all,     He was my husband, Jim;     I see him now, so straight and tall,     So long and lithe of limb.     That whip was with him night and day     When he was on the track;     Ive often heard him laugh. and say     That when they heard its crack,     After the breaking of the drought,     The cattle all came back.     And all the time that Jim was here     A-working on the run     Id hear that whip ring sharp and clear     Just about set of sun     To let me know that he was near     And that his work was done.     I was away that afternoon,     Penning the calves, when, bang!     I heard his whip, Twas rather soon,     A thousand echoes rang     And died away among the hills,     As toward the hut I sprang.     I made the tea and waited, but,     Seized by a sudden whim,     I went and sat outside the hut     Watching the light grow dim,     I waited there till after dark,     But not a sign of Jim.     The evening air was damp with dew;     Just as the clock struck ten     His horse came riderless, I knew     What was the matter then.     Why should the Lord have singled out     My Jim from other men?     I took the horse and found him where     He lay beneath the sky     With blood all clotted on his hair;     I felt too dazed to cry,     I held him to me as I prayed     To God that I might die.     But sometimes now I seem to hear,     Just when the air grows chill,     A single whip-crack, sharp and clear,     Re-echo from the hill.     Thats Jim, to let me know hes near     And thinking of me still.