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
Chapter 36.
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.