--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Young, Aretta collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 25 number: 3 published: 1922-01 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Aretta Young, "Dedication," *Improvement Era* 25, no. 3 (January 1922): 225.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2503unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2503unse start_page: 225 end_page: 225 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1922-01) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2503unse publication_year: 1922 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1922, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Dedication Dedication Are.Ua Young I am alone; and endless seems the shore Where I in silence wait; And yet, I would not have thee cross the path, Where time must toll my fate. All boundless seems the arid, untrod plain, And fear oft fills my soul; But oh! I would not have thee come to see How I shall find my goal. Thou art the bitter-sweet of my poor life; My hunger thou didst know, Yet smiled and beckoned, and I came to find A desert and this woe! A wail from out my riven heart I fling — I'm glad thou canst not hear Those sacred agonies of my sad soul Breathed only for God's ear. I shall not sink, though hungered and athirst, — Though wounds ope oft to bleed — For manna will be sent me from the skies And angel hands to lead. A mortal pain from human hopes, long dead, Is my dull chastening rod — A contrite spirit and a broken heart I dedicate to God. And from the furnace of my fire-burned self, I shall be lifted now, To give a holier service unto Him Who sanctifies my now. Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah