Three wooden crosses,
Erected on a hill, -
Weatherbeaten, etched with age,
Standing stark and still.

Indians who hated
White man's arrogance,
Fell upon three priests
In hapless circumstance. -

Knowing not the mission
Of these godly men.
Murdered them at sunset,
And galloped off again.

A caravan of white men
found the bodies there;
Dug for each a grave,
And buried them with care.

They made three wooden crosses,
And set them in this mound.
The nameless little graveyard
Became a hallowed ground.

Little wooden crosses
Stand in silhouette
Against a summer sky. -
And good folks can't forget

The symbol of the crosses -
That day on Calvary,
When our dear Lord and Savior
Died for you and me.

Las Cruces, or "The Crosses",
A city of mixed race,
Keeps faith with Christian martyrs
And remains a godly place.