THE BLACK HILLS OF DAKOTA by MARY FRANCES MARTIN

They say the good Great Spirit
Dwelled here in the ages past,
Where, across the world's great shoulder
Was the fringe of His mantle cast;
His fingers traced the valleys,
And carved each rugged height,
Then draped them with living beauty,
And crowned them with living light.

They say the Great Spirit loved them
As He loved no other place,
For He clothed their rugged grandeur
With dignity and grace.
The eternal peace of His presence
Their very being fills,
Ah me, I can well believe it
Now mine eyes have seen the Hills.

I have walked with reverent footsteps
Along their winding ways;
My tongue has been hushed to silence
When I fain would utter praise.
Where pine clad slopes are sheltered
By rock-walled canyons grand,
I have come to my knees, awe-stricken
By the work of His mighty hand.

I can only gaze enraptured
On their majestic grace,
Hushed into silent wonder
Before their rugged space;
Where only the wind's light foot-steps
Their pinnacles have trod,
To have known their trails and canyons
Is to have walked with God.

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