To sob the gratitude it felt
And thank the Saviour of the State,
Gods might have envied thee thy fate!
Then was the laurel round thy brow,
And friend and foe spoke praise of thee,
While all our hearts sang victory.
Alas! thou art too base to bow
To hide the shame that brands it now.
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Nightly I put up this humble petition:
My sins of commission, my sins of omission,My sins of the Mission Dolores.’
Charles Shortridge once to St. Peter came.
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