Chapter 35.
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.
UTAH'S PIONEERS
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!"
A PEACEFUL HOME.
From F. M. Young's Journal.
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