clearly reading Nellie Eliza Hunt.
3. RWC’s transcription gives 1914, but Nellie’s journals place the poem directly after her letter of 1 March 1913 to Ralph at Johnson, Utah.
About 1910
Mountain Rose
As I walked through the fields, I beheld a beautiful blossom fair.
It was a bud just unfolding, its petals bright and rare.
I thought as I gazed on this flower as it grew in this garden of ours
It was a type, a wonderful type, of God’s most beautiful flowers.
There in our little garden, this little rose bud grew,
Warmed by the summer sunshine, cooled by the morning dew,
Fairest flower that grows, we loved it—
We cared for this blossom, we called it Our Sweet Mountain Rose.
But the Master came to our fields one day and beheld our blossom rare
A beautiful Godlike treasure so He took it within his care.
Our hearts are sad—but our hearts have been sad before;
When another fair sweet flower bloomed on that bright happy shore.
Just beyond the eternal walls there is the richer ground,
Blooming in his garden may the fairest flowers be found
Side by side, by the gateway growing in sweet repose,
Stands a graceful, snow-white lily and a beautiful mountain Rose.
(Monroe, Utah—Written for Ed Naser and family when his little Rose died. His little Lily Grace died when I was about 10 years old.)
About 1910
…I was still lamenting the loss of our little Nelda [2 January 1913] and considered a little poem that I had written four years before for Thomas Ransom’s in commemoration of their little [one] as most appropriate for ourselves at this time:
Our Little Bird
One of our birds has gone away; it has flown away from our breast.
One little bird has gone from us; it has flown from the dear home nest.
It’s not lost, this beautiful bird, this beautiful bird of ours,
Tis gone to the land of the bright sunshine, gone to the land of flowers.
Down in our nest we sheltered it, safely under our wing;
Tenderly there we guarded it, then we bid our sweet birdie sing;
But the blasts of winter blew cold, and dark was the dismal rain,
Tho we held her close ‘neath our breast, our loved one quivered with pain.
When we saw that she was suffering, then we bid our sweet bird go;
We weep, not because she is lost to us, but because we love her so.
She has gone to the realm of the warm sunshine, gone to the land of rest;
There ’mid the beautiful flowers, she will build for us all a dear nest.
When the time comes for departing, swiftly we’ll take our wing
And we’ll wend our way to the beautiful land, where the birds forever sing,
When we have left our nest, our little nest here below,
We will all enter into the Heavenly Realm of the One who loves us so.
(Monroe, Utah—Written in remembrance of Thos. Ransom’s little girl. She died in about 1912)
1916
In 1916 when Delile Jones, Vern Jones’ little daughter died in Idaho, I sent them these words of condolence:
A Token of Love—“For Nonie”
Your heads are bowed down in sorrow,
Your hearts are now filled with pain
For one whom you loved, O! so dearly,
In her grave you have peacefully lain.
At the gates of the poor and the lowly,
At the portals of the rich and the gay
When death and sorrow enters
There is none can answer them “Nay!”
There’s no fleeing away from our troubles,
No hiding away from our care;
But the wise and the strong, are those
Who bravely life’s trials bear.
May the tears you are shedding
Bring to your hearts sweet repose
As the dew fresh from Heaven
Revives and brightens the rose.
Would it comfort you, Brother and Sister,
Would it sooth your pain if you knew
That our hearts and sympathies
Are both, dearest Friends, with you?
April 1921
A Prayer
Out of my heart, I’ll utter a prayer,
For all that is good and grand,
For those who are meek, and souls that seek
The clasp of a brother’s hand.
I pray for souls that are glad or sad
Or for souls that long to be free.
O! World so great: O! World so strong
May I offer a prayer for thee.
O! Words that I say, Will you bring I pray
To some sad heart sweet bliss?
Fall soft I pray, as a summer day
Or a Mother’s tender kiss.
Tho, sorrow and strife, may cloud my life
Come true, my dreams never may;
But
