I look to thee, City Beautiful,

Beyond the river, lost.

Lost, now, my home there,

Wrought in aching toil,

Where tiny bone of my bone

Rests beneath the prairie sod.

That life is past.

My face is west,

And my heart will follow,

Because I know His voice.

It is the Captain of my captain

Who calls me to go on,

And my hand is with the hand

Of the chosen of the Lord.

Oh, Joseph! What did you see

On our horizon?

Oh, Brigham! What do you know

Of sorrow yet to come?

I leave thee, City,

Without an answer,

For my soul is settled.

In camp I echo, “All is well,”

And I move on,

To journey, labor, plant,

For years, or for a life.

My steel is forged,

The fire can only temper more.

But the journey and the years

Ne’er will dim my view

Of thy temple on the hill,

And, hand to plow,

I sow the hope

That toil and time will bring

Nauvoo to live again,

That our “All is well”

Will sound once more,

Someday in thee—

Someday in Nauvoo.