Forty Acres and Prayer

{lonesome dobro intro, fingerpicked

acoustic guitar, dry

room acoustics}

Way back where the gravel road

finally ends, Stands an old pine cabin

that the good Lord sent.

Forty acres of timber,

a creek runnin' clear,

That's where our family's called home year after year.

Daddy swings an old axe from daylight to dark,

Leaves fresh cedar chips scattered through the yard.

Mama keeps the fire warm and the biscuits brown,

Makes a little feel like plenty

all year 'round.

Forty acres and a prayer,

Hard work hanging in the mountain air.

Eight hungry mouths around one table,

Giving thanks for all we're able.

Stacking logs and cutting trails,

Loading wagons full for sale.

We ain't rich, but love lives here,

On forty acres year after year.

The older boys drag timber

with the old farm mule,

Learning every lesson

from the mountain school.

The little girls fill buckets

with blackberries sweet,

For Sunday pancakes

and a homemade treat.

Morning dew shines on

the wildflower hill,

Everybody's working

with a heart and will.

Nobody complains when the day's run long,

'Cause family makes the hardest days feel strong.

The seasons change, the children grow,

Just like the mighty pines they know.

The land gives back to hands that care,

With faith, hard work,

and answered prayers.

Forty acres and a prayer,

Simple life beyond compare.

Pancakes, berries, fresh-cut pine,

Living on God's borrowed time.

When the sun falls through the trees,

And the whip-poor-will sings with the breeze,

There ain't a mansion anywhere

Worth more than our forty acres and a prayer.

(forty acres and a prayer...) {fading acoustic guitar and lonesome dobro,

room echo}