The Lonely Grave
By Howard R. Driggs
There’s a lonely grave by a long, long trail,
Where a tired mother sleeps.
The grasses sigh,
As the winds pass by,
And the stars their vigil keep.
The grave was made years, years ago,
When the pioneers went west.
One mournful day
On that weary way
Another was laid at rest.
On a wagon tire that had borne her far,
They cut the mother’s name;
And marked the mound,
Then with sobbing sound –
Went on, hearts filled with pain.
The grasses hid the lonely mound,
The stars kept watch o’er the trail,
Through the long, long years,
Till new pioneers
Came to lay the iron rail.
The grave was found by these rugged men;
It stood in their right of way;
Yet with tender care,
They left it there,
Changed the grade, that it might stay.
This lonely grave by the long, long trail
Now does its sacred part
To keep through the years
Our brave pioneers,
And our love of the mother heart.