The waving grass, the brookside grove,
The tangled thickets of wild rose,
And bending birch, that droops above
The bed where Walla Walla flows;
The glorious morns, the sultry noons,
The blazoned sunsets of the plains,
The starry nights, and white-fire moons,
The golden fields of ripening grains,
That prove this land, in God's great plan,
The last, best heritage of man!
Yours was the first of womanhood
Whose eyes beheld, whose mind could reach
The heights where beauty, use and good,
Stood beckoning; who longed to teach
An untaught and unteachable race,
To see, seize and enjoy. What though
You failed of purpose? We still trace
The God-word thought, and feel and know
Your life's deep lesson, brought to view
In the red poppies of Wa-ii-lat-pu.
Walla Walla, 1877.
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