Portrait of Courage

(Mary and the Mother of Judas)

Beneath the fateful sycamore where still
A frayed rope hung, they sat in quietude
Of grief and saw: three crosses on a hill;
Repentant Judas ... Darkling death there nude.
Heads bowed, eyes tearless, bleak, both mothers knew
That winds through palms would sing triumphant, free,
The Song of Life, while whispers slithering through
The grass would hiss, "Betrayer!" endlessly.

"How kind and mother-wise to seek me here!
Forgive him, Mary."--Grief's taut floodgates broke--
"His hands were grasping but his heart held dear
Your Son, his Lord. Would I might ease your yoke!"
In syllables love-tender, Mary said,
"Yours is the greater burden. Lift your head ..."

Seedtime and Harvest

A child knelt to pray

Beside his mother's knee--

Their cabin on prairie sod.

A man lights the way

Leading humanity

Through fruited valleys to God.

Barren Woman's Prayer

I who am childless see a hunger there
For more than new-made loaves and cherry pies.
There is a spirit-hunger in his eyes,
A love unfed, a craving for the care
Of one who holds him special. With an air
Of nonchalance he laughs but his heart cries
For childhood's joyous heritage with skies
Rainbowed with deep affection ever fair.

Yet she who feeds his body fails to see
He needs the manna of her arms, her kiss,
Her tender words, her love's sure alchemy
To feed his soul within its chrysalis--
These hungry lads, help me to feed and bless,
Who having mothers still are motherless.

Etchings

Knowing that she had gone to live in the New Tomorrow,
Rowing across the river to the Elysian shore,
Praying I stood beside her feeling the peace of angels;
Saying a low farewell, I saw on her dear old face:

Etchings of children's laughter, lullabies dreamland winging;
Sketchings of sleeping babes, of hands that were clasped in prayer;
Beauty of homey living, filled with fire-opaled wonder;
Duty that yielded glory tuned with the lyre of joy;

Rearing of valiant sons, then having them die as martyrs;
Cheering of war-torn hearts that bled from the saber's kiss;
Sadness that dolorous drums were beating of greed and envy;
Gladness that love would triumph--etched by the artist, time.

Barren Woman's Cry

O mothers, you whose sons are called to war,
The cruel talons also tear my soul.
Your boys return to wear a battle scar,
Are maimed and wounded; are not spirit-whole.
And you who mourn a grave in foreign earth
Beneath white crosses, gleaming row on row,
On reverent knees give thanks that you gave birth
To sons who bade democracy to grow.
I share with you the yearning for God's grace,
Beseeching Him to reach to warring zones.
Could I have felt a soldier-son's embrace,
My heart would sing above its anguished moans.
You walk in tears the path that Mary trod,
But hear my cry: Would that I might, O God!

The Relief Society Magazine
Sea To Sea In Song--APL Anthol.
Third in Eliza R. Snow Contest
First in MFCP Clinic Poems, Spring 1952

Sing Gently

A mother's lullaby becomes a star
To lead the earth to be peace-beautiful.
Lilies will bloom where swords dissolve--How far
Away the hour? How near this miracle?

O mothers, answer: Lift your eyes, and sing
The song of love, to bid small fingers curled
About your own reach upward to the King
That He may help them build a tomorrow's world.

Sing gently; kindle high, white fires to burn
Within the heart; give sons in youth the rod
Of flaming faith that they grow strong to turn
Back waters of the sea ... and lead to God.

For faith implanted through a lullaby
Will flame to blazon PEACE upon the sky!

Russian Mother

She sings dictated lullabies
To the man child on her breast.
Her eyes, deep, haunted pools
Where sunlight never dances,
Hold no rest.

Her lips though word-obedient
Falter on the rim
Of atheist-thought to mutely sing
Of Him.

Holding her small man closer
(Her love must reach
His soul to give assurance
Of the God she dare not teach.)
Flames of high white fire
Glint her eyes--above the clod--
Perhaps her son will sire
Giant-minded free men
Who walk with God.

Pioneer Mother

In her log cabin,
The need for loveliness
Gnawing incessantly at her heart,
She held fast to the exquisite threads
Of past beauty and spun shining tendrils
Fastening them to beauty yet to be.

Faith of Our Pioneer Mothers

How could you do it Granny--leave your home
And ease and beauty, and across the loam
Of deserts push a handcart all the way?
"The voice of truth, my child, we must obey
And follow where it leads. It was not hard
For I had John, and we both loved the Lord--
John was your grandpa--and beneath my heart,
The miracle of life ... Joy can impart
A song to sun-cracked lips; ease weary feet."
Her eyes illumed, were reminiscent-sweet.
"We saw the Light ahead that does not fail."
Surely you faltered, Granny, on the trail
When Grandpa died? I paused--She smiled and said,
"My dear, God walked beside me in his stead."

The Improvement Era

Our Mother Was Young

I still see our mother with stars in her eyes
As every day yielded the joy of surprise.
The wonder of life on her heart was inscrolled--
Our mother was young and never grew old.

Our mother saw beauty in every dark hour,
The rain through her eyes was a crystalline shower;
Our daffodils, blooming, were goblets of gold--
For mother was young and never grew old.

She gave us the armor of courage to wear
Whose shield was clean living, whose strength bade us dare.
Her heart was truth's chalice. What joy--multifold--
With our little mother who never grew old!

Our mother knew sorrow but never defeat;
Adversity tempered and made her more sweet.
When death's angel called her, new wonder unrolled,
And mother went smilingly-youthful, not old.

The American Bard

Mother Sculptor

How patiently she works with living clay,
Molding with willing tender hands and heart
Each pliant form, no thought of self or pay,
But praying that the finished work of art
Reflect the Master, and as time unrolls
Be flawless temples for immortal souls.

The Relief Society Magazine

Portrait of Mother

I see again my mother's youthful face
With lamplight glowing on her dark brown hair.
Her patient hands are mending children's clothes.
A smile is on her lips so gently-sweet
That I remember bed-time lullabies
She sang to me in that loved long ago.
How speedily those lilting years have sped!
When looking on her tender countenance
I seem to hear old church bells softly chime;
See arching rainbows over sun-kissed hills;
Hear laughing little streams that trip along.
I breathe the lingering lilac-breath of spring;
Hear sleighbells tinkle barely to be heard
As happy childish laughter fills the air;
Smell spicy sugar cookies, new-made loaves;
Feel cool, fresh sheets upon my bed at night;
An angel's kisses on my tired brow;
A gentle hand upon my head in prayer;
I stroll again through quiet country lanes;
I see old apple trees and bluebelled hills.

The American Bard

Mother

Her home was her castle where wee baby hands
Brought her more wealth than the orient-lands
Yielded a king in his royal estate.
Up before sunrise, she labored till late
In toiling and loving--and sighing perhaps.
(Dear gentle Mother, her love still enwraps.)
She taught us the beauty in lowliest things;                                  
To reach to the stars ... Her kiss took the stings
Away from our failures--You could not defeat
The spirit of her--Her clear voice carolled sweet
In singing us lullabies, gave healing balm.
Her smile had the power to chasten and calm.

She taught us the strength of a life that is clean;                          
The value and glory of work's earnest mien.
She mothered her ten with a joy so complete
That Heaven was found in the path of her feet.

Song of Fulfillment

Morning Wonder

"Your call is clear."--It was my teacher's voice--
"In marriage you will never be fulfilled.
Your star is rising" ... Pondering my choice,
The song of motherhood would not be stilled.
Could echoes, not the singing, bring content?
Acclaim? And never know the miracle
Of life beneath my heart; the wonderment
Of the shadowed valley, God there merciful?
A babe's first cry, my triumph! In my ear
Child voices whispered; I saw reaching hands ...
How could I let another bring them here,
My heritage be stone and barren strands?
My soul held morning-wonder as I dreamed
While far away a Temple spire gleamed.

High Noon Ecstasy

So morning passed, and at high noon I knelt
Before the altar with my love and spoke
Forever-vows. The seal of Heaven felt,
The "first command" renewed to us awoke
The lyrics of creation's primal song
Safe-locked within the chalice of my heart.
And in the heart of my young god, chaste-strong,
They rang--my song to his a counterpart.
We knew a prayer-sweet, mounting ecstasy
As birth ... and death ... bequeathed our home a soul.
Dreams were as shadows to reality;
Time spun for us fulfillment's aureole.
Life's fount was deep and clear with crystal bars;
The cup held to my lips, a cup of stars.

Silver Twilight

My sun, still high, was darkened. Spent with tears,
I knew the blighting kiss of early frost.
Along a pathway shadowed by my fears,
My children gently led me till I crossed
The bridge of hope to peace, and lifted up
My eyes to see the sun--And now they bring
Their babes ... I drink from my own star-filled cup
While beauty rims the shadows lingering.
Above the bronzing hills of truth where still
I garner dreams, I see my rising star ...
Forever vows! Beyond the last high hill,
The ultimate fulfillment ... My eyes afar,
I glimpse the grandeur of the choice I made,
And walk the silver twilight unafraid.

Coverlet of Love

Love is
The coverlet
A mother weaves
And wraps around her child
To shield when disappointment's
Chill winds blow.

A Mother's Desire

She thought to build a lovely home,
A place of beauty ... joys.
Geraniums bloomed in window sills,
And on the floor, child's toys.

This thought in mind, she washed and baked
And curled her children's hair,
Made little dresses, trousers too,
Saw little faces fair

Light up as she made lollipops
Or gave them pink ice cream,
Or listened as they lisped to her
Their childhood's fondest dream.

She realized that little souls Must day by day be fed ...
So she would talk of Christ to them
Before they went to bed.

This thought in mind, she'd kneel each night
And send her plea to Heaven,
A prayer of thankfulness and love
To God, for what He'd given.