Well may each Mission have a holy spell,
And Serra's name become a household word,
What marvels can each yellowed archive tell
Of him and of his martyr-spirit band.
O faithful, dauntless hearts! What brilliant sons
Of that great galaxy of Spain's brave sons!
We love their saintly lives to ponder o'er,
While childhood's fireside tales come back to us,
And memory unfolds her precious store,
The bygone glories of the Mission towns,
The grand old hymns sung at sweet Mary's shrines
The Spanish color rich as luscious wines
Of Mission vineyards, and the festive hours
So full of life yet innocent and good,
When blessings seemed to fall as welcome showers,
The Indian tribes were ruled with Christian love,
And shared the sons and daughters of Castile
Their loved Franciscan Fathers' patient zeal!
But still we love each altar and each cross
Of these dear fanes; e'en as departing rays
Of sun doth kiss the crags outlined with moss,
We love to linger by their altars' light.
But oh fair Carmel, she of Missions Queen
What guarding spirits hover here unseen!
Sweet Carmel, center of the hero-band,
What holy treasures hold thy sacred vaults?
Junipero and others! Here we stand
In awe of all thou hast been and art still!
Cruel times took glory, splendor, power
From Missions all, but not their priceless dower,
Religion, love and all we hold as dear,
No hand can tarnish and no might destroy,
And from each hallowed altar ruddy, clear,
Still burns the mystic lamp, for God is there!
The cross-crowned towers tell that all is not dead,
E'en though more splendid times have long since sped.
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