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A young man rode with his head held high,
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Under the Texas sun,
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And no one guessed,
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That a man so blessed,
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Would perish by the gun,
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Lord, would perish by the gun.
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A shot rang out like a Southern shout,
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And Heaven held its breath,
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For a man shot down,
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In a Southern town,
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In the summer of his years,
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Yes, the summer of his years.
|
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And we who stay mustn't ever lose,
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The victories that he's won,
|
For wherever "man" looks to Freedom's past,
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His soul goes riding on,
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Lord, his soul goes riding on!
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|
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-----------------
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Summer Of His Years
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| connie francis |
