Morning

eMornin^ By Blanche Kendall McKey OOLLYHOCKS and golden glow ■LJ- In a hedge the sun peeps over, Kissed, caressed by Laughing Wind — Known for aye as a rover; A white little cot where a cradle swings, And the stirring voice of a mother Sings with the bird in his burnished cage The soft, glad song of a lover. Glints of gold from the yellow bloom Shine in the heart of me; And varied pinks of hollyhock — Power of mystery! — Envelop my soul with a cloud of joy, — Who cares that youth can't last? My singing heart is stored with gold For the hour when joy is past. Cold is pain with his tragic eye — He is not mine today; Mine is the blue that paints the lake Where glad young children play; Mine is the stretch of pasture land, The aspen's cool, sweet shade That silver glints the evening rays When, still, the gold lights fade. Mine is the scent of cloverbloom, The lilac's incense wild; Mine, the blessed gift of love, And laugh of a little child; The waiting fields, the yielding earth, The urge of work begun; The hushing peace of a silver moon, When we have lost the sun. Dear little house, you hold my heart! Oh, stirring voice within, I take your note to quiet fields, To cities' noisy din; Bright hollyhocks and golden glow — Hedge that the sun peeps over — Pray tell me how gay Laughing Wind Can choose to be a rover? Compensation By Rosannah Cannon rEY gave me three short months of sun and rain To set my house in order; but the pain Of dying dulled each lovely thing I saw. Thus all alone I stood in dreadful awe, And trembling, tried to pierce eternity, When April came and waved her hand to me. How strange that in the last year I should live, A lilac that for years refused to give One bloom, burst forth in ecstasies of white ; And tossed each fragrant spray for my delight. Some said it was a change of soil* * * but I Know it was Springtime telling me good-bye. L< iOVELY as it is to read an entire page of one poet's work, the time comes when there are little delight- ful bits by several people which can wait nio longer to come to light. Dreams and roses, loss and zompensation , mountains and morn- ing and a song of evening, here are woven into lines full of beauty and of peace. July is a month of posies and patriotism and the warmth of the summer sun. It is a month of fragrant dusk, of star- ry nights, of dew-kissed gardens. Because these poems somehow carry with them the freshness and charm of the dew and the stars and the fragrance, they seemed to belong to July; and although "Compen- sation" has its setting in the spring, it is a prelude to the summer to follow. Gone By Christie Lund qnUOVCH life had tried to rob me A. Of every dream I knew — I kept them all, because I clung To my white faith in you. But it is well you do not know How much your going cost; Nor know that when I lost that dream A thousand dreams were lost. i 1 i Two Song,s By Helen Peterson Morning A ROBIN flew past the garden, He brought with him a song; The song woke a bud. The bud burst into flower And a rose greeted the sun. Evening "V TIGHT mantled the deep; JLy A star twinkled, A cricket called — The moon rose in splendor. ■f i 1 TSryce By Vesta P. Crawford r/O giants must have made this land; One was massive in his strokes, The other wrought with chisel in his hand. One was blind and flung his colors wide, A dauber he was with the gorgeous paint, But a master followed his stride! One struck with flaming thunderbolt And slashed the mountain face, The other came with fine small tools And carved cathedrals in its place! Arizona Mountains By Bertha A. Kleinman (Suggested by a talk given by President J. Robert Price of Maricopa Stake) jDUILD ye men like the rugged moun- --' tains, With shoulders braced to the stormy sky, Build ye into the tethered stature Designed for you by the Utmost High. Build ye men like the Rock of Ages, Cleft for the hosts that come and go, Bulwarks fashioned to shield and shelter, As mountains build for the vales be- low. Build, ye, build for the eagle's soaring. Crags and peaks where the stars en- crown, That the ships of state shall come to their mooring, Safe where the beaconed hills look down. Build ye men like the rugged mountains, Build for the march of the centuries, Still brotherhood shall gird the nations And peace brood over the seven seas. Build ye men like the rugged mountains, True to the type of a Maker's scheme, Towering chiefs that stand in their image Face to face with the All Supreme! (i This is the Place" By Weston N. Nordgren THIS is the place'" That far-flung cry Echoing through the mountain fastnesses Rolling o'er the plains, Deluging all nations With its message to the world, Returns, as prophecy fulfilled. "This is the place!" And here was builded By the sturdy pioneers of '47, And throughout the years, By others following, A shrine to God, a holy place — A refuge city from the world. "This is the place!" And fleeing now to Zion, Come the nations of the earth, To learn of God; for scenery; To study at the feet of those Who followed God's command And fled from Babylon. "This is the place!" Old trails fade Into the vista of the years; Progression comes, and with it peace, Prosperity and happiness, The people here must ne'er forget They owe the whole, to God.