|Prairie clothed in verdure fair,
A flowery-dotted robe;
No more the hunter and the hare
Shall make thee their abode.
Long years thou'st been the wild unknown,
Thy deserts unexplored;
But e'er we'll claim thee now our own,
Keep thee a sacred hoard.
Thou'st cost us blood as pure as gold,
Thy bosom stained with gore;
And 'neath thy verdure sleep the braves
Who opened freedom's door.
Thy rolling hills and fertile plains
Wild herds of deer no more
Shall stamp and lick,, at olden games,
Nor heed the bison's roar.
]Now rustling blades of thrifty corn
Thy bosom's storage yields;
All vegetation now adorns
Thy rich and fertile fields.
The hand of culture enters now
Thy long wide-open door,
And bids the farmer with the plow,
His strength upon thee pour.
Bright glitt'ring Star, thou long hast shone
And twinkled in the West,
Those of the East beck'ning to come
And nestle in thy breast.
But to thy oft-repeated call
A warm response is given;
And he who answered, now receives
A home not short of heaven.
__James A. DeMoss
James A. DeMoss
(Thayer, Kansas: ___. 1892)