A young man rode with his head held high,
under the texas sun,
and no one guessed,
that a man so blessed,
would perish by the gun,
lord, would perish by the gun.
A shot rang out like a southern shout,
and heaven held its breath,
for a man shot down,
in a southern town,
in the summer of his years,
yes, the summer of his years.
And we who stay mustn't ever lose,
the victories that he's won,
for wherever "man" looks to freedom's past,
his soul goes riding on,
lord, his soul goes riding on!