We Will Cross the River

Today I was very moved by a sermon delivered at the Pleasant View 7th Ward in Provo, Utah, where I was visiting. Emily Eliason told a beautiful story about the pioneer Mormons and the courage required by them to leave Nauvoo and cross the Mississippi river in the winter. Some did not, and there were long term consequences for those that did not pay the dear price of crossing the river and the plains with the faithful. Thanks, Emily, for inspiring us. This is my tribute to your story.


We Will Cross the River
by Gideon Burton

Let us be strong enough to cross the river,
the February river, dark with ice;
to take hard gifts provided by the Giver,
the gifts of hunger, want, and sacrifice.
Let us be strong enough to walk the plains,
to leave behind what we with toil have sown;
to brave a wilderness of mud and rain
and find what can't be found in peace at home.
Let us be strong enough to bear their pain
when children weaken in the dark and cold,
when some depart while we repeat their names,
the same we prayed since birth and will till old.
     We step into the chill of certain loss,
     For we have known His hand and voice, and cross.

Photo: flickr - mpilote

He tethered us with mercy in the dark

Originally I composed this sonnet with the early pioneers in mind. In fact, the first two lines come directly from a story about a Mormon pioneer who claimed the difficulties of their journey were worth it because they came to know God in the process. Today, however, as I'm thinking about a friend undergoing an extreme trial, it seemed very contemporary.

He tethered us with mercy in the dark
by Gideon Burton

In our extremities, however, we
became acquainted with our God. In mud,
in winter's coldest anger, in the sea
of prairie winds, in sweat and tears and blood.
He tethered us with mercy in the dark.
His grace survived, a blanket in the night,
and though we walked unshielded in the stark
and rocky wilderness, consumed with fright,
our feet and hands grown numb within their rags
our children, mothers, sinking into graves--
yet sunlight breaking through the mountain crags
conveyed his promises in warming waves.
     Though faint, we heard his voice, we felt his hand;
     and as we did, we found his promised land.

Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - MarkKelley