To the Pioneer Mother's and Father's


| January/February 1963


They came out west, with a prayer and hope,
Brot a Bible, a plow, an Ox yoke.
Hopes were high, their tools were few,
The Prairies wide, at sunrise full of dew.

Virgin sod was broken, sown to grain,
With hopes to harvest, without too much rain.
Always good neighbors, to them in need,
They built, they improved, they planted good seed.

They shared their neighbor's sorrow,
There was joy in giving helping hand,
They followed the straight narrow furrow,
They were the 'Salt' of the land.

Snug in their Sad die, there was an earth floor,
A precious cradle by the stove, gun over the door.
An ax in the corner, bright and keen,
A Buffalo robe on the bed, may have been seen.

Their needs were simple, they put their trust in God,
Came May flowers, they broke more sod.
The harvest was bountiful, with golden grain,
They prayed, they worked, and worked not in vain.

We honor you, and we miss your sturdy clan,
You have sown Justice and Honor all thru the land,
The Heritage you left us, a priceless name,
Faith in God, Love of Country, a precious 'Gain.'






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