BY-WAYS - 5/11/44 - Las Cruces Las Cruces
Three wooden crosses,
Erected on a hill, -
Weatherbeaten, etched with age,
Standing stark and still.
Indians who hated
White man's arrogance,
Fell upon three priests
In hapless circumstance. -
Knowing not the mission
Of these godly men.
Murdered them at sunset,
And galloped off again.
A caravan of white men
found the bodies there;
Dug for each a grave,
And buried them with care.
They made three wooden crosses,
And set them in this mound.
The nameless little graveyard
Became a hallowed ground.
Little wooden crosses
Stand in silhouette
Against a summer sky. -
And good folks can't forget
The symbol of the crosses -
That day on Calvary,
When our dear Lord and Savior
Died for you and me.
Las Cruces, or "The Crosses",
A city of mixed race,
Keeps faith with Christian martyrs
And remains a godly place.
This is my second attempt to tell you about that beautiful, clean little city, Las Cruces. So far I haven't got beyond its origin. Last week I was dissatisfied, and wired a veto on it appearance in the Press. This week isn't much better. But a little. Bear with me patiently. Do send those sick and injured folks plenty of cheer cards.
Affectionately, Florence B. Taylor