Poetry

By Val Camenish Wilcox


Jewel in a Valley Setting

Luminous rays of early sun
Pierce eagerly and seek
A solemn and a precious spot
There, just below Squaw Peak,
To irradiate, set sparkling,
A brilliant gold and white:
Our gleaming Provo Temple,
Each morning’s bright delight.

The Salt Lake Temple

Your matchless grace of granite,
Your wondrous strength of stone,
The beauty of each springing arch
Are marvels all your own.
You vie with yonder mountain peaks
In majesty sublime;
The builders who have builded you
Have conquered space and time.
The vaulted blue of heaven
Rests down upon your spires;
Your anchors in the rock below
May feel earth’s throbbing fires.
Oh, symbol of a mighty hope,
Of faith that’s strong and true,
May all that we construct on earth
Spring up to God like you!

How Shall I Frame the Question?

Aside from the torn flesh
and the full weight
of thy poor, weakened body
suspended from the nails—
what was the nature
of thy suffering,
impaled upon the cross?
Surely it went beyond
the sorrow that we
could do this thing to thee …
for we have come to understand
that thou, in all thy purity,
assumed our many sins.
Was there, as well, a special
sorrow in thy knowing
that we would be,
in spite of thy great sacrifice,
caught up in networks of emotion
spun fine as spider webs, from which
but rarely we’d be free—
with now and then
the briefest glimpse
of what we are to thee?

End of Day

End of day.
Now the sun coin has slipped away
Into the penny-slot of the world,
And all the ocean waves are curled
And scalloped where sand lies deep
On drowsy beaches. Small crabs sleep.
Now gulls hover over yellow feet,
And everywhere the soft winds greet
The timid stars that tiptoe into night.
Now wings are stilled that beat in sun-bright flight,
And gnarled trees crouch with gnome-backs turned to sea;
Now only peace is left for you and me.

Formula

Multiply yourself
By some three billion and ask,
Would the world have peace?