Its granite rocks thy sire.
Its soil thy mother’s breast.
Its fiercest storms thy discipline.
Its smiling peace thy rest.
Where, in that solitude,
Among those mountain streams,
Didst thou attune thyself to God
And give thyself to dreams?
They call thee “silent” Is
Not that an attribute,
A spell, born of thy native hills
Before which, man is mute?
One does not prate of power
In idle chatter, where
God dwells. And thou
Met Him in silence there!
from The Collected Poetry of Francesca Falk Miller
Chicago: Privately printed, 1956
Available on the Internet Archive: Link
A rare, perhaps unique specimen: an ode to Calvin Coolidge.
This is one in a series of neglected poems taken from the Internet Archive.