 
With reverent touch and grateful heart, Dear thoughtful friend, I hold this precious bit of green You kindly send From Cheyenne's holy, lonely grave, Where pilgrims tend. It touches springs of tenderest life Inspired by her, Who, child of poetry and ease, Did not demur From sacrificing all to be Wrong's arbiter. That rare mosaic it suggests Made by the hand Of those who seek this favored spot In chosen land, Where, oft in life, she penned her soul At Truth's command. 'Tis true, she wished no monument To mark the place; But must she not be satisfied To see the space Thus blessed and open to the heart Of every race? O brain of power and heart of fire, America's pride, No wonder that the mountain height, Above sin's tide, Was chosen as the resting place With death to hide; For such could give the needed rest On earth denied, Could satisfy the poet's thought, Unsatisfied, And symbolize the soul's true rest When glorified. |
|
