I grew up on a farm But it did me no harm We just plowed and we planted and hoed. We hauled bundles of hay Throughout the long day. I kept hoping to haul the last load.

I learned lots from my mother, Bonded strong with my brother, Took pride in our "humble abode." And I'm still here alive 'Cause I learned how to drive With my dad as we hauled one more load.

As we hauled for the herd I heard very few words From my dad as we drove down the road. He was calm and collected, And seldom dejected, Never anxious to haul the last load.

I learned by observing His method of serving In silence and calm as we rode. And while feeding the cattle… No jabber… no prattle! Just thinking, "Is this the last load?"

It was not that I shirked Or avoided my work. I had learned not to stay in that mode. So I stayed quite alert And I worked till it hurt, But I wanted to haul the last load.

I often was teased But never displeased When my quest for relief was bestowed. And he laughed at my plot To bypass the feedlot And proceed to haul the last load.

"Right soon" or "We'll see" Was his answer to me When I asked if we'd quit and unload. No straight answer I got As I pled and I thought That, just maybe, this IS the last load.

"To the house and some rest" Was my earnest request Since a sizeable load had been stowed. But it still wasn't dark It was not time to park. There was still time to haul one more load.

With the sky turning gray At the end of the day, We'd worked all day long, and it showed! So as darkness approached My question was broached: Is it now time to haul the last load?

There was likely some charm To work hard on the farm… A "blessing" so humbly bestowed. Quitting work was absurd As we hauled for the herd. Not one thought that we'd haul the last load.

But the years went on by Seldom thinking that I Had a debt to my dad that I owed. He taught me the rules Apart from the schools One thing learned: Not to haul the last load.

He was perky and spry With a glint in his eye And he taught me by things that he showed. He taught me to stay Til the end of the day, Always waiting to haul the last load.

Now he lived a long life On the farm with his wife Who was happy to share the workload. You would not see him frown Though the years wore him down. He kept hauling and hauling that load.

When we fought off the gloom In his hospital room, (He was nearing the end of his road.) He just eyed me and said As I stood by his bed "It's time… to haul the last load."

What a sobering thought, To be careless and caught Without tending your "row to be hoed." So I challenge you, friend, To be true to the end, 'Til it's your time to haul the last load.