The Pioneers

—— THE SUNFLOWER. 771 One moment he beamed upon them, The next he would from them hide, Till many turned away from him, And others withered and died. But there was a common flower, Not beauteous to behold, That always turned its face to him, Its love for him ne'er grew cold. So the Sun cried, "I'll name this flow'r, The only one that's proved true; It shall bear my name forever, And reflect my glory too." Since then, the faithful flower Has worn a mantle of gold, The token of its fidelity, Which now is as firm as of old. We should, from this golden blossom, Learn a lesson, every one Though clouds may obscure life's brightness. Beyond there still shines the sun. Grace Ingles Frost. Salt Lake City, Utah. THE PIONEERS. They left their homes and loved ones And came to a barren land. They were noble, brave, and loyal. That weary and footsore band; They camped mid stones and sage-brush. With praise to their God on high Who guided and sustained them When no earthly help was nigh. ' They passed through nameless horrors, Fought many a cruel foe; Then trusted to the Father, To show them where to go.

— They left the graves of martyrs, But they bore the bitter pain, Knowing he would unite them. In a happier world again. And some were old and feeble, While others were strong and bold; They carried in their bosoms A faith more precious than gold. Each patient, noble woman, And each little, helpless child. Bore spirits strong and dauntless, To that land so bare and wild. I seem to see them toiling, Amid hardships and 'mid care, Iseem to see them kneeling With full hearts raised in prayer. Through terrible privations, Still they kept their faith in God! Their souls were made more perfect. By Father's chastening rod! We follow in their footsteps; As the ages onward move. Let us their sacred mem'ries Keep bright with admiring love. They lived and died to serve us. And their feet rough places trod. To give to us their children. This freedom to worship God. We lift in praise, our voices Let them echo clear and strong, We sing their songs of Zion, In an earnest, loyal throng. Our hearts must feel most tender. And our eyes must fill with tears. When thinking what we owe them. These our noble Pioneers. Annie Malin. Ogden, Utah.