St. Mary in the Mountains Church
In the heart of the Old West’s rugged land,
Where The Comstock Lode’s fortunes were grand,
Stands St. Mary in the Mountain, timeless and bold,
Emerging from the tales of silver and gold.
A cathedral of enduring beauty and grace,
With a touch of haunting charm embraced,
Its spires reach high, piercing the azure sky,
Where white clouds dance up, ever so high.
On stormy days, when thunderheads collide,
The cathedral stands strong with unwavering pride,
Echoes of the red-tail hawk’s piercing cry,
Haunting sounds through canyons, soaring high.
Inside the hallowed walls, whispers intone,
Legends of gold that men have known,
Stories of sacrifice and hardship untold,
Yet hope and determination never grow old.
St. Mary in the Mountains, a solemn defender,
Testament to the eternal, Holy Spirit as protector,
Its beauty, a tapestry that binds past and present,
Reminding us of a history timeless and pleasant.
So let us cherish this symbol of resilience,
Amid echoes of Virginia City’s remaining brilliance,
For in the Sequoia cathedral’s walls and steeple,
Lies the essence of a West steeped in decent people.