Mine is a state of prairie loveliness, Of tree-fringed lakes—or rivers, cliffed and bold; Of centuried buttes and granite spires that press To skies beyond their pregnant lodes of gold; A land where coyotes prowl and wild ducks wing, Of forest-sheltered buck and antelope; A land of drouth—or rain abundant spring— Of sun and wind and snow—of toil and hope. Mine is a state whose varied loveliness My soul enthralls. O, when the days are fine And I can see uplifted, motionless, Miraged ... a ranch, spruced streams, a smokestacked mine ... I hear God speak in loving majesty The dauntless language of eternity. —THE ARGUS LEADER |