Who Walked with Him

The Master's hands held our world in place.
The soft caress of His gentle face,
The quiet peace of His loved embrace
Made a shrine of our childhood home.

We heard His voice in the flute-clear note
That curved on the breeze from the Southwind's throat,
In the timeless river's lyrical rote,
As we sang with the singing loam--

Our father who walked with Him each day
Bade us to know Him along our way.

The Improvement Era

Oasis of Home

The home
Our childhood knew
Becomes a cool oasis
Where we return to be refreshed
From deserts of disappointment.

The Relief Society Magazine

The Path to Home

When hammers of the rain beat on my head
And temper tantrums of the hurricane,
Shouting in uncontrolled and furious wrath,
Strike fear that numbs my heart, I take the path
That leads to home, and soon I feel again
Secure and warm. Love's mantle gently spread
About my trembling form gives me release--
The path to home will lead to God and peace.

The Relief Society Magazine

Time-Hallowed Shrine

When sudden storm dark-veiled the dusk
And winds because a hurricane
That shrieked in wrath, wild, uncontrolled,
Fear, striking like a metronome,
Would mark our heartbeats. When we saw
The little lighted path to home
Fear left, we knew security.

Not coddling arms, but arms love-strong
Embraced; word-coverlets enwrapped
In peace. The will to conquer born,
We climbed to reach the mountains' comb--
The crest of truth, our destiny.

That habitation is a shrine,
Time-hallowed now among the hills,
To which we still return for strength.
We hear its challenge, as we roam,
To grow soul-tall toward the Light.
For there beneath its lowly dome
Was patterned love's democracy.

Where Happiness Grows

When one begins his search for happiness
He often looks beyond his own loved yard
Into a strange garden. I confess
I journeyed far to find the singing bard.
A distant field looked greener. Sweeter chord
Of music seemed to echo from the shore
Of unknown waters. I was sounded, scarred,
When I returned much wiser than before
To find my happiness was waiting at my door.

Reflections

Port of Home

The moon is a silver yacht tonight,
A yacht with its sails of opal-white
Sailing me to the port of home.

Star of Home

Alone, high on a hill, I watch the dusk
With soothing arms enfold a little town.
I wait to see the stars come out below
And name them one by one, then hasten down
When the bright star I love is beckoning.

The Archer
Hon. Men. in Quintain Contest

Childhood Home

How dear that home whose shrine invited rest;
With children's laughter its melodic chimes;
Where twelve of us, the Master as our guest,
Stepped in and out of Heaven many times!
Deserted now and lonely, still their gleams
Its light to mark the pathway to our dreams.

Back (l-r): Vernon, Reuben, Rozella, Stella, Joseph, Orville
Seated: Myrtle, Mabel, Anine Deem Law, Francis Joseph Law, Nomah, Minerva