In the name of hatred, those towers crashed down.
In the name of God, the place where they stood
Became hallowed ground.
For three thousand souls were released that day,
And a nation once more, began to pray.
God was born again, in the U.S. of A.
"God Bless America" was sung 'cross the land.
Flags were waved, Signs went up:
United, we stand.
In New York City
In that hallowed ground,
Brave searchers went forth.
Bodies were found.
Day after day they bent to the task
While hiding their sadness 'neath stony mask.
When they reached the point they could take it no more,
They prayed and they counseled;
Then returned to the chore.
Then one day, they stood in awe - and no one spoke.
For there in the midst of the rubble and smoke
In the funereal pall, in that hallowed hall,
Stood three crosses of steel,
Standing tall.
Those crosses were raised on that hallowed ground
By God's own hand;
Where thousands had died,
As those towers crashed down.
Poem by Bob Price
The News Tribune, October 11, 2001
"Thoughts from ground zero" by Skip Card
I was sitting at one of tables in front of the Salvation Army canteen.
A tall man-maybe 6-foot-6
And weighing 350 pounds ? was sitting there by himself.
Frank was an ironworker who had
obviously been so impacted by the things in the pit.
I touched his arm. He began to cry.
?I have something to show you.? He grabbed my arm with a single hand (probably the
biggest hand I ever saw!)
and began to lead me into the remnants of Building 6.
I could look
down into the bowels of the building. The twisted steel, re-bar and molten melted steel was like
it was all holding hands.
Right in the middle of the nine stories of carnage, there was a mountain
of debris.
Frank had brought me here to show me what was on top of the mountain. It was a cross of steel,
maybe five stories tall with a 20-to 30 foot cross beam.
Just to the left there was a smaller cross
set off to a left angle
and to the right another cross that tipped to the right.
It looked like Easter.
It took my breath away.
Someone came along and asked me, "Don't you think this is weird?"
My response was, "No,
there are always crosses in cemeteries."
Jeni Gregory