Poetry

By Dorothy J. R. White


Repentance

Consider tears that fall on the outside,
Yet wash the inside clean.

To My Relief Society Sisters

Rebekah—
She of the water jar—
Dreamt not of glory
Nor an honored name
When she saw the thirsty traveler.
She poured out love
And charity
As freely as clear water from the well.
For you, her daughters,
I have no golden bracelets.
But I salute you in her name
And offer thanks and praise
For those who poured
In rich abundance,
To my need.

Pioneers

“This is the place!” Brigham declared,
And so it was—
A haven for tired, hungering
Saints to gather,
Garnered from distant continents
Across oceans, countries
With different cultures and tongues.
Long ago the faithful gathered,
Became one,
Built Zion.
“This is the place!” we now declare,
And so it is—
On every continent
Across oceans, countries
With different cultures and tongues.
Reversing ancient routes,
New pioneers plant seeds of faith,
Offer the same challenge—
Become one,
Build Zion.

[illustration] Handcarts, by Minerva Kohlhepp Teichert