Junipero Serra

WITHIN the ruined church at Carmel’s bay,

Beside the altar, with rank weeds o’ergrown,

There’s a grave unmarked with slab or stone,

Where lies one who, lost sight of in our day,

Yet bides his time; and when have passed away

Our would-be heroes, he will then be known,

And glory’s heritage at last will own,

His title to which no one will gainsay.

When life was nearing to an end, ’twas here,

Seeking repose, the Padre Serra came;

Of our fair land he was the pioneer:

And if the good alone were known to fame,

Within our hearts his memory would be dear,

And on our lips a household word his name.