From the Improvement Era, May 1954 —
In the first place, I was born one. My parents were among the early converts to the teachings of Joseph Smith, the founder of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, – my father in Kentucky, his native state; my mother in far-off Norway. What is commonly known as Mormonism had no stauncher adherents that Abraham Owen Smoot and his wife, Anna Kerstina Morrison. That I should have imbibed, from infancy, in the home that sheltered them, the spirit of the religion for which either of them would have laid down life, if necessary, will occasion no surprise to the readers of this article. I was the third-born in the household, and Salt Lake City was my birthplace. Since ten years of age, however, I have resided in the town of Provo, fifty miles south of the Utah capital.
What education I received as a youth was in Mormon schools, notably the Brigham Young Academy at Provo, an institution that my father helped to found. I was one of twenty-nine students with which, in the autumn of 1876, it began its first term. I was then in my fifteenth year.
By Vesta Pierce Crawford
What shall he find when sounds of cannon cease
And after long wandering he returns
To his own land, his dream deferred, and peace?
And what shall comfort the heart that yearns
To lose the memory of sacrifice,
What valid solace shall his loved ones give
To heal the lost look in a soldier’s eyes,
By what eternal measure shall he live?
Give him the river’s song, the shadowed hill,
A road that leads to his familiar door,
Make his mornings eager and his midnight still
And give to him the love he waited for;
Give him this recompense, confirm his choice–
Children’s laughter – home – a woman’s voice.
Metal that made the sword can shape a plow,
The tool of promise, strength, security –
Give a man the brighter blade, show him how
To cleave the ground in furrowed symmetry.
This is an ancient truth and long revealed,
Dominion of the earth is sure defense,
And by this touch a broken man is healed–
In seed and soil he finds his recompense.
For there is solace where the snow has lain
And comfort when the fallow season turns
To April’s chalice and the sound of rain.
Once more, like hopeful grass, the seared heart learns
That tenure of the earth alone can bring
The jewelled sunlight to the field of spring.
In Sabbath twilight let the soldier find
The open door, the edifice of prayer,
Let all the battered ramparts of his mind
Receive the sound of benediction there.
Too vivid still he bears the lash of memory,
And yet the sacred parables can light
The wilderness of doubt that men may see
A lambent star above the hills of night.
Give him the quietness of sacrament,
The Bible’s treasured word and organ tone,
The union of this brotherhood be sent
For recompense that once he knelt alone,
And let only luminous words be said
In worship when the soldier bows his head.
Discussion No. 5
Jesus Christ Head of the Church
Objective: To show that Jesus Christ is head of the Church; that His Church should be called after His name; that the members should be called Saints; and that the Sacrament is a covenant to remember Him.
1. Review the story of the First Vision stressing the fact that the Father referred Joseph to the Savior with these words: “this is My beloved Son, hear Him.”
From the Relief Society Magazine, January 1941 –
By Maryhale Woolsey
Patiently, Hester sat in the small, straight chair. Her hands were folded in her grey-silk lap; her feet, in fine kid slippers, were set neatly on the carpet. Her tired eyes sought, in turn, a narrow vista of garden through a window on her left, a photograph of her granddaughter, Sara Mae, on the desk opposite, or wandered aimlessly about the room, still strange after three long days and longer nights. Now and then, she moved slightly to ease her position. It was wearisome, sitting in the small, straight chair.
There was a more comfortable one, a cushioned armchair; but it was in full view of two great mirrors, which Hester did not like. Mirrors were not kind to an old woman, bent and wrinkled and gray. Besides, from the armchair she could not see the garden, which was her greatest interest.
Keepa’ninny Carol found this document among her mother’s papers. For once we can see an entire document and not just the letterhead!
Joseph F. Smith’s editorial in the Juvenile Instructor of 15 September 1903, decrying mob violence, just feels odd to me – help me to figure it out.
Hyrum Smith, Joseph F.’s own father, died at the hands of a violent mob. Joseph F. normally has no hesitation in retelling that awful story. Here, though, although he speaks in general of violence against missionary elders in the South, and about the “drivings” of Mormons in the 19th century, he doesn’t make any direct reference to his father or to Carthage. Why do you think that was so?
His attitude toward the lynchings of blacks is remarkably banal. He seems to accept without question that black men are guilty of crimes against white women, merely shrugs when he writes of lynchings, even of the killing of the “wrong” men, and only expresses dismay when the killings become too violent, mingled with “torturing and burning.” How do you feel about his attitude?
He seems to have two primary purposes for this editorial: One, it seems to me, is a sense that mob violence will spread as, perhaps, one of the factors in the destruction of the last days, in the category of “wars and rumors of wars.” He also cautions Latter-day Saints against participating in mob violence – he seems concerned about our participation in mob action as perpetrators, not as victims. Is that how you read this? or do you see other purposes for the editorial?
We had ward conference last Sunday, so we’re a week behind most of you.
Lesson 8: The Sermon on the Mount: “A More Excellent Way”
Purpose: To encourage class members to come unto Christ by applying the principles he taught in the Sermon on the Mount.
1. Jesus teaches the Beatitudes to his disciples.
2. Jesus declares that his disciples are “the salt of the earth” and “the light of the world”
3. Jesus teaches a higher law than the law of Moses.
“Do you notice any change in me?”
“I’ve just swallowed a nickle.”
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From the Relief Society Magazine, May 1937 –
By Blanche Sego
Eleanor Martin opened her shabby pocketbook and placed the five dollar bill inside, as she thanked her employer and left the store.
It was her earnings for the few days in which she had held the position as clerk in the small country grocery, during the rush of customers that the sale had brought.
Holding her head high with a new sense of self reliance, she walked slowly down the sidewalk.
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