Salt Lake Valley in 1847.
Salt Lake Valley, as it lay in eighteen forty-seven,
Was a desert desolate. Its parched wastes were given
As a play ground for the hot winds that in whirlpools
Sent clouds of alkali dust whirling through the air,
Poisoning with its white breath the scant vegetation existing there.
And in the summer, from the grey, sunburned bench lands,
Looking westward, the glimmering lake, and the glistening sands
Of the great American desert, met the traveler's view.
Forming a horizon, beyond which no white man knew.
Only the red man whispered, "Not many moons ago
A train of white men's wagons passed along the southern shore,
Vanished in the murky mirage, and were seen no more;
Save one, who with tattered clothes, emaciate, and footsore,
Came to our camps, and with feverish greed—
Snatched our cricket meal, and wild grass seed;
By signs explained that all his friends were dead,
That he alone was left, the backward trail to tread."
No more was learned, and this gruesome view
Was magnified by Bridger, to the exiles of Nauvoo.
The pioneer camp was silent, no boisterous laughter there;
Each step was still and careful, each word a whispered prayer.
In Wilford Woodruff's carriage, the Prophet Brigham lay
Burning with mountain fever, no skill of theirs could stay.
O Father, spare thy servant—we need his helping hand
To guide Thy people's footsteps, till they reach the promised land.
No power but Thine can save him. Shall thy people plead in vain?
Stay Thou, the burning fever that is racking him with pain.
They were camped in Echo Canyon, between those massive walls
That send back an echo to the thunder's pealing calls.
But the very voice of nature seemed hushed upon that day
And the peace of God came to them; a peace that came to stay.
Again the voice of Brigham, like Joseph's, rings out clear;
'Tis firm, bold, and decisive, banishing doubt and fear;
"Let Orson Pratt and Erastus Snow move on with half the train,
And when you reach the Valley, go northward o'er the plain
Till you strike a mountain brooklet; then camp and sow your grain,
And you shall reap a harvest. Push on, and do not doubt—
For it shall be our Zion, the "land of rest, sought out."Upon the mountain-top, the weary band stood still
And watched their pale-faced chieftain, the man of iron will,
Who had freed the hosts of Israel from mobocratic power,
And held that host together, until the present hour.
When George M. Hinkle faltered, and betrayed our prophet guide,
'Twas Brigham's faith and courage that stayed the treacherous tide,
That flowed from Boggs' scheming, to sweep the Church aside;
With matchless skill and wisdom, checkmated Benton's plans
By sending a battalion to fight the Mexicans.
Even President Van Buren, with Benson as his aid,
Was fairly circumvented at the cruel game they played.
'Tis true we lost our city, the beautiful Nauvoo,
'Twas sacked, and desecrated, by Brockman's heartless crew.
And these, the fleeing exiles that stood upon that hill,
Had faith in their great leader—they loved his iron will;
But the scenes that lay before them stretched e'en the chords of faith—
Were they going to destruction? Had they found their burying place?
Was death to be the outcome, the answer to their prayer?
Were they, their wives and loved ones, Donner's fate to share?O think, you pious Christians, who drove them from their land,
Could you have stood the trials of that heroic band?
They place upon the altar the treasures of the soul,
The hope of an existence, to God they gave the whole.
And God, who ever watches over his faithful ones,
Sent down the bow of promise; it came through Brigham Young.
"I have seen this land in vision; I saw the tent come down
And rest upon the summit of yonder rising ground.
There we will build a temple, a resting place for God,
And His Spirit will requicken the hill and valley sod."
These were the sweetest sayings that mortals ever heard;
It was the balm of Gilead, Jehovah's healing word.
They will stand through endless ages as Brigham's crowning act;
The strength and inspiration that founded a commonwealth,
Where the love of God, and liberty, will dwell in every soul,
And Columbia's sons, in righteousness, will govern and control.
Then the honored name and memory of Brigham Young shall be
A legacy as priceless as the boon of liberty.
Written July 24, 1918
Dear Pioneers, brave Pioneers!
We welcome you with hearty cheers!
I search in vain, in every land,
To find the equals of that band
Of noble men and women true
Who left their homes, their lov'd Nauvoo.
Facing hunger and wintry blasts
To 'scape a foe, whose blood-stained lash
Had scarred the back of sire and son.
And burned the homes of helpless ones!
A lawless mob, whose thirst for blood
Flowed like a stream, a filthy flood—
Submerging Nauvoo's well tilled grounds.
And spreading sorrow all around,
Destroying property and life
And ushering in the bitter strife
That ended the noble Prophets' lives.
And forced the bleeding Saints to flee
To Utah's vales, harbor of law and liberty!
Marked ye, the path the fathers trod?
How close they crept to Israel's God?
Like Moses at the burning bush,
Took off their shoes midst thorns and brush,
And tramped across the cactus plains,
That we our freedom might obtain?
O Liberty, blessed, priceless gift!
For which our fathers bled and died!
Casting all thoughts of self aside!
Giving their lives, if need must be,
That we, their children, might be free.
O precious seed, and wisely sown!
See how the fruit of it has grown:
An Empire State of spotless fame,
No traitor's act has our flag stained,
But loyal to the heart and core
Our sons are mustering by the score,
And rushing to the battle's van,
To "win or die" to the last man,
Our hearts are set, we lift on high
Our nation's glorious battle cry,
And shout aloud, with trumpet breath,
"Give us liberty, or give us death!"
Better than gold is a peaceful home—
Where all the fireside chanties come,
The shrine of love, and the heaven of life,
Hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife.
However humble the home may be
Or tried by sorrow by Heaven's decree,
The blessings that never were bought or sold.
And center there, are better than gold.
—Copied Oct. 18, 1919
From the Cradle to the Grave.
A little boy at his mother's knee,
Laughing and babbling in childish glee;
A willow horse in his chubby hand;
Acting the role of a grown-up man.
Shaking his head in an angry mood,
As if deep wrongs he had endured.
Tossing a lock from his baby brow—
Catching a flash of repentance now,
Then cuddling close to his mother's side,
As if to heal his wounded pride—
And many a wound, by a mother's kiss
Is changed from pain to a cup of bliss.A strapping youth at the "garden gate,"
Anxious to meet his expected mate;
With a wish in his heart the future to see,
To catch one glimpse of his destiny.
Willing to give his share of the world
For a warranty deed of his cherished girl;
Nervous to right an imagined wrong,
Nursing his wrath for a battle strong;
Heedless of counsel, for in his own eyes
His case is just and his judgment wise.
"'Tis manly to stand in defense of truth,"
And "I know I am right" is the voice of youth.Next comes the man, majestic and grand.
And what is grander than a noble man?
In every move there is power and grace,
Revealing the origin of his race;
The depth of thought, the fire of his brain,
Leaping from earth to realms whence he came;
Chaining the lightning with a skilful hand,
Making it serve the bidding of man;
Building a kite to fly to the skies,
Onward, and upward, without knowing why.From the baby's cradle to the father's grave,
As restless and forceful as the ocean's wave;
The child, the youth, the man in his power
Show that conditions are made for the hour;
That cause and effect are as true to their rule
As any, those laws, we learn in our school.
To mortals, old age is the crowning link,
The last breathing spell, as we stand on the brink
Of a wonderful change, called the river of time,
Or passage of death, a terror and dread
To most of the living, but what of the dead?
The millions of loved ones who've passed through the door,
And are hid from our view, on that mystical shore?
Can just spirits answer? speak up if you can,
And tell us the future of him we call man.
Is life there a burden, or is it a joy?
An existence of pleasure, without pain or alloy?
Hark, a voice comes from Joseph, the prophet and seer;
'"Listen, ye mortals, the glad tidings hear;
Death is the portal that gives to our sight
An endless progression, in the mansions of light;
And with the faithful meet the Father and Son,
And dwell with the righteous, exalted ones.
'Tis the "lost tree of knowledge" that opens our eyes,
And brings us to Eden, a redeemed Paradise.
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Grayson's school-house was all aglow;
Windows were brilliant with borrowed lights,
And youthful feet were tripping to and fro.
"Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spake again,"
And words of cheer sent back a warm refrain;
For every heart was full of joy and pride,
Like the wedded lover, welcoming the blushing bride.
And speech, and song, with hearty zest,
Each one to entertain doing his best.
And wherefore this? In this broad land there is no foe,
No cloud of war, no shadows of impending woe.
The sky serene; an atmosphere of peace,
Inviting old and young as to a feast.
And 'twas a feast, a feast of soul
A prize more precious than a mine of gold;
A sacrifice, free given, on the altar of pure love,
A call to mission labor, from the courts above.O brothers in a common cause, did you ever feel
Coming to your being a joy you can't reveal?
A baptism, or a birth, an unction from on high?
An evolution of happiness, that moistens every eye?
Like the joy that came to Abraham, when he offered up his son,
When his guardian angel shouted, "Hold! Harm not the precious one!"
The metal has been proven in the crucible of pain;
The dross has been rejected, the gold alone remains.
So tonight, we say to Mary, a daughter native born—
We have known her from the cradle, in sunshine and in storm;
One of the chosen spirits our Father sent to earth
To labor in the mission field, a trust of sacred worth.
And every soul within our town will hasten to the hall
To witness his approval of this angelic call;
Go forth, thou blessed sister, into the mission field;
To meet the mists of darkness, keep virtue as thy shield;
Strong in thine own inheritance, a pure and spotless life,
And you shall be victorious in every gospel strife.
The Young Men's Pledge.—Brigham Young's One Hundredeth Birthday—Mary's Birthday.—Some Things that I Remember.
Joseph Smith and John M. Horner.
Two boys were hoeing corn one day,
Beneath a July sun.
And as they worked, in friendly chat
Their youthful fancies run."I'll be a farmer," the younger said,
"And study nature's laws—
If there is growth of tree or plant
I'll know the primal cause."Thus John, the younger of the two,
With a bright, progressive mind,
Explained to Joseph what he'd do
When he became a man.I watched and listened with interest now,
To the elder boy's reply;
For his was a fine, intellectual brow,
And a keen, prophetic eye."I'll be a man of God," he said—
"A student of truths divine:
I'll soar from earth to realms above
Where endless treasures shine."I'll study the lives of noble men;
I'll search the Scriptures too,
And I will know, if mortal can,
If Hebrew books are true."I'll know if Moses talked with God,
Upon the Mount Sinai;
The paths the ancient prophets trod—
I'll tread before I die."And each one, happy with the thoughts
That stirred their youthful breasts,
Silently finished the task in hand,
Then sought their home and rest.As years rolled on, we watched those boys,
And history proves to you,
Throughout their lives they kept their vows,
With motives pure and true.The farmer became a wonderful man
In agricultural skill;
And boundless wealth came from the soil
In obedience to his will.His name and fame went round the world,
And kings bestowed their praise.
He is today a shining mark
Of God's mysterious ways."The other one, would that my pen
Could a truthful picture give,
Of the prayerful, trustful, God-like life
That noble boy did live.How every word of that first pledge
To the letter was fulfilled;
How his bright mind grasped light and truth,
Until the Seer was killed.How God the Father, and Christ the Son,
Talked face to face with him;
How Peter, James and John—anointed ones,
Were sent by EloheimTo lay their lands on Joseph's head,
The priesthood to restore;
How Moses and Elias came with keys
They held in days of yore.Moroni, the Nephite Prophet, came
In robes of spotless white,
Talked with the boy of hidden things,
From eve till morning light.We talk of teachers learned and wise,
Of pupils, apt and bright;
But never by man was mortal taught
As Joseph was that night!History of nations, long since dead,
Were revealed to him so plain
That he in language strong and clear,
Could make them live again.He learned the solar system's laws,
And measured Kolob's time—
That God, of matter formed the worlds
That now in splendor shine.That man, now mortal, is Jehovah's child—
A birthright, endless and grand,
The crown of glory, in heaven, is this:
To be an exalted man.These were the paths the young man trod—
That was the glorious aim,
To pierce the skies, commune with God,
Eternal life to gain.
Our multitude of little ones,
Dear precious souls, so bright and gay—
So full of life and harmless fun,
In neat attire, together come
And shout aloud, "'Tis first of June,
And we have come to sing a tune
In memory of the natal day
Of Israel's chieftain, Brigham Young.""Teacher," they cry, with faces all aglow
With life and joy, "we wish to know
More of the life, the acts, the worth
Of that great man who came to earth
One hundred years ago.""Well, children, I have heard my father say
That Brigham came upon a 'blusterous day.'
The June sun rose so bright and clear,
But soon a change came o'er the atmosphere.
Dark clouds went scurrying through the sky—
And shrieking gusts and moaning sigh
Gave warning of a coming storm
That filled the people with alarm—
The elements ceased not their war
Until the day had gone afar
Toward the setting of the sun.
But e'er old Sol his race had run,
A wondrous change again had come;
And all was bright, serene and calm
When Brigham Young was born—
At night within that humble home,
Rest and peace to all had come.'Twas the foreshadow of that great man's life—
At baptism commenced the bitter strife;
The sneer and scoff of sectarian hate
Increased to town, to county, and to state.
Armed and legalized mobs were soon in line
Against the God-sent prophet of modern times;
And gifted men, once active in the cause,
Turned traitor to the kingdom and its laws;
But Brigham's knees ne'er trembled in that hour,
Defending Joseph with all his might and power.
First at Far West, the storm in fury raged,
And Zion's leaders in chains were caged;
For six long months they wore the galling chains;
In dismal dungeons their weary limbs had lain.
And Clark's militia mob despoiled the Saints,
Till e'en the strongest faith seemed faint;
Then Brigham showed the temper of his soul—
Leader born, and warrior bold.
He rallied the scattering sheep, led them to pastures new,
Till Joseph came, and founded fair Nauvoo.'Twas in those years of toil and strife, and sin,
That Joseph learned to trust in him,
And pointed the path the Saints should tread
When Joseph and Hyrum would be dead.
At last the storm in fury broke
At Carthage jail, with cruel stroke,
Joseph and Hyrum both were slain—
The Church had lost its head again.Then Brigham's lion heart was seen—
With master mind he spanned the stream,
And led the bleeding Saints to Utah's inland sea,
And planted them in liberty,
In valleys sheltered by lofty snow-capped domes,
Where God has smiled upon their homes.And then he brought the poor from every land
And made a strong united band;
Taught them how to till the soil,
Taught them peace—to cease turmoil;
Taught them to give a helping hand
To every soul throughout their land.
He taught our children to be kind
And pure, and truthful, and refined.
And God so blessed the work thus done,
That millions loved the name of Brigham Young.
Mary Y. Roberts—dear May,
This is a warm, beautiful winter day,
And your mother says it's your birthday;
That forty years ago, precisely at dinner time,
Your earthly life began to shine,
Such a tiny, faint little glimmer—
A mere dot, a spark dropped from above.
From the mystic, boundless ocean of love,
The mother, and Giver of all creation;
We were waiting, looking, and praying for you;
We wanted you, yet we hardly knew
How to prepare properly for your reception.
But your mother did the best she could,
And with Aunt Marinda's help so clever,
And with your grandpa, kind and good,
They nursed the little feeble flame
To life; helped it gain courage to remain,
And it became a source of joy forever.What ups and downs have passed since then!
Who knew the future, where, how, and when
The lightning's flash from out the storm
Would crush to earth some loved one's form—
Or tear loved branches from the tree,
And shroud the home in misery?
For pain and death come to the earth
Unheralded. Not so with birth.
Death comes; we have no power to stay the blow.
It strikes; the dearest ones are first to go,
No matter how firm the heart-strings cling;
'Tis like a bird upon the wing—
Soon 'scapes the reach of our weak hands,
And takes its flight to other lands
While we, held by an unseen power,
Are crushed by the sorrows of the hour;
We droop, and like the bird we've caged,
Against our prison bars we wage
A restless warfare, seeking in vain,
Freedom from life that gives us pain.
But freedom's boon will never come,
Until we learn, "Thy will be done,"
And every quiver of the soul
By patient guard has learned control;
And prove another law divine,
That every act reaps of its kind,
And all who sow in purity and love,
Reap a rich harvest from above.You, dear child, born forty years ago,
Have drunk your cup of grief and woe.
This is the arch of the span of life;
It marks the zenith of earthly strife.
For forty years you've climbed and climbed—
It is enough. Hereon the path shall wind
'Mid shaded groves of field and flowers,
Bringing bright days, and pleasant hours;
No storm shall rise to cross your path again,
But what the cold shall turn to summer rain,
And every cloud, by children's love dispelled,
Will whisper peace, and, mother, all is well.These are the words a father's lips declare;
From this time on your life shall taste, and share
The peace and love, the joy and bliss
That crowns a life of righteousness.
I am seventy-seven years old today—
My step is light, but my hair is gray.
The ear and eye are not so bright,
Showing a failing in hearing and sight.
And I cannot run as once I could,
When legs and lungs were strong and good.
My breath goes short as I climb the hill,
Showing that strength is not equal to will;
For hope and will, blessed gifts of God,
Are strong in my heart like an iron rod;
Leading my feet in their earthly strife,
Pointing my soul to a higher life.What a flood of sorrow, what an ocean of joy
Has crossed my path, as man and boy!
O, could I tell the changes I've seen,
'Twould equal in romance Alladin's dream.
It would quicken our pulse with a warm desire
To review the deeds of our noble sires;
For progress and growth in the realms of thought,
Are often with pain and sorrow bought;
And the richest gifts that crown our lives,
Come as a reward for a heart's sacrifice.
I remember when seven summers had fled,
Of kneeling beside a sick mother's bed;
With her motherly hand on my curly head,
She told me that Joseph and Hyrum were dead.
How deeply we loved the patriarch and seer
Was shown by the thousands who wept at their bier;
The Saints at Nauvoo were crushed by the blow—
'Twas my first comprehension of national woe,
For Israel that day lost a heavenly treasure,
A shepherd who fed them with wisdom unmeasured.I remember full well the Prophet's sweet smile
As he patted my head, I a weak, sickly child,
And said to my father, "Fear not, Brother Young,
For a long life awaits this dear little son.
He will grow up to manhood, the priesthood he'll hold,
And carry the gospel to nations untold."
Those kind words of promise illumined my soul;
The light is still with me, although I am old.The next I remember was the ice-flowing tide
Of the great Mississippi, its flood a mile wide,
The shout of the boatmen, the splash of their oars,
As they pushed the huge scow from the river's east shore.
They were giants in stature, and fearless and bold,
They shrunk not in danger, nor shivered in cold
There was tall Thomas Grover, and brave Warren Snow,
And three other heroes whose names I don't know.
With skill and endurance they stemmed the wild tide,
And landed their freight on the Iowa side.
Say, what was the freight that faced ice, wind, and snow?
'Twas the Saints who were fleeing from homes in Nauvoo.I remember the camp fires that blazed high in the woods,
While one side was freezing, one scorched where we stood;
And the anguish of childbirth, when the mother's strength failed,
Was drowned by the fury of the tempest and hail.
'Twas a cruel, bitter struggle with cold and with rain:
The route of our journey was marked with our slain;
With zeal, faith, and courage, ne'er excelled by man,
The journey to Utah our fathers began.
I walked with the children, and helped drive the sheep,
Hatless and shoeless, with sore bleeding feet.The wonderful journey was ended at last—
Forgotten in pleasures, were the cold wintry blasts;
For the sunshine of Utah brought strength, peace, and health,
With a promise, if faithful, of the blessings of wealth;
The words of the Prophet in part were fulfilled;
Israel had fled to the mountains, an empire to build.Sixteen summers had passed, and I had grown tall—
Five feet, lacking two inches, as I leaned 'gainst the wall;
And I weighed ninety-six pounds, on Father Neff's scales
In the old grist mill, overlooking our vales.At the annual conference, in eighteen fifty-four,
I was called on a mission, new fields to explore,
With twenty companions, young men bright and clean,
With them Joseph F. Smith, a boy of fifteen,
Manly, studious and faithful, keys to a life and career
That has crowned him as President, Prophet and Seer.
One night, sleeping with him on the isle of Maui(ee),
At President Hammond's, 'neath a banana tree,
I was wakened from slumber by Joseph's sharp cry—
A centipede stung him, in the core of the eye.
The venomous reptile struck the tenderest part;
The poison soon spread from the brain to the heart.
How fearfully he suffered the rest of the night!
It was feared, through our ignorance, he might lose his sight.
Then the power of the priesthood came to our aid,
By anointing and prayer the pain was allayed.My mission is ended, four years have slipped by—
Without purse or scrip, repentance I've cried;
The will of the Father I've tried hard to do,
And by doing, I know the gospel is true.
Again, I have seen the dark clouds of strife
Hang over our people, and threaten the lives
Of Brigham, and Heber, and John Taylor, too,
And all the brave spirits that to Joseph were true;
But there's more union in Zion today
Than was found in Nauvoo when they drove us away.
We are nerved for the battle, and first on the program
Is to burn up our homes, leave a desolate land—
Leave it barren and foodless, as when we first came;
Not a tree, nor a shelter will we leave on the plain.
Our wives and our children to the mountains must hie,
Then we'll fight for our rights, for we fear not to die.
The people responded with a hearty amen,
For the spirit of freedom burned bright in our glens;
Then wagons and horses, men and women, with carts,
Form in squads and battalions; for Sonora they start;
For three hundred miles, from Logan to Cedar,
A moving, human stream, without captain or leader,
For the light of the prophets was shining so bright
That the humblest pedestrian could see its bright light.
But He, who moves in curious ways, his wonders to perform,
Accepted the offered sacrifice, and calmed the rising storm.Today, Zion's cities are the wonder of the world,
And a temple of beauty stands where our banner is unfurled;
And on the waste, where, as a boy, I herded cows and sheep,
Now twice a year, the Saints of God in solemn conference meet.
And many strangers yearly come our temple to behold,
And go away, and often say, "The half has not been told."These are the scenes that many years have brought into my view,
And I testify, with soberness, the words I speak are true;
And to my wives and children dear, who cluster round my hearth,
I say, with tears of happiness, I'm glad I had a birth.