![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/661982a328b3c802ea79c5c2/b71a4ee8-debe-4b0f-ae7c-266f32c93dcf/PITNEYMEYER-3298.jpg)
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The low lonesome strain of a bluegrass fiddle
fills the empty cabin, carrying a song
of love lost and life gone by.
Within the death of what was, the banjo rings
and a seed of joy is sown.
Old Friend, borne upon the wind,
I know who you are.
Birds a flyin’ to the west, bringing rest
to a restless mind.
As the sun is sinking low, a trail will cut
through the wilderness, where many tears fell.
At the banks of the great river,
and the heights of the mountain of the Lord,
You prepare a table
in the presence of your enemies.
My cup runneth over, and all is at rest.
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/661982a328b3c802ea79c5c2/029b019b-9834-4595-bcf3-13ff641d806f/PitneyMeyer+Ryman+.png)