Roland and Helen Parry

Overture

 

The true story that is about to unfold before you is unparalleled in its epic proportions. True, the children of Israel, pursued by Pharaohs host, fled into the wilderness and crossed the Red Sea, in search of the Promised Land; and the Pilgrim fathers braved the tempestuous Atlantic, hostile savages, and an equally hostile continent, in order to worship God as they saw fit.

 

But this is a story of a modern exodus; of men, women and children driven from their homes in the dead of winter; of their privations and sufferings,---of their ultimate triumph.

 

It is likened to the journey of the children of Israel, led by Moses, who faced the wilderness to get to the Promised Land.

 

Tonight’s story focuses most sharply on the first company of pioneers, to come westward, led by Brigham Young; and It is meant to be a montage of many such journeys, many hardships---and many tales of heroism. These pioneers, who came into the West by wagon, oxcart, and by pushing handcarts, numbered more than 80,000. Nearly 6,000 of them were left along the tortuous route in unmarked graves.

 

Here in western Illinois, on seemingly worthless swampland, the new Mormon city of Nauvoo has sprung to prosperity, despite the severe persecutions of the neighboring people of the state.  June of 1845 finds their city the most prosperous, the most beautiful in the state.

 

The crops are bountiful, their gardens verdant and blooming.  On the hill their temple rises, a symbol or faith and hope!  They are grateful---they are happy.

 

 

Nauvoo the Beautiful

It is summertime here in Nauvoo,

A wonderful day for strolling.

And our city is a beautiful one and bountiful crops are growing.

Grateful are we for this wonderful day,

Flowers are blooming and crops are bountiful

 

As autumn comes, outside Nauvoo trouble is brewing. Mobs are gathering -- angry mobs, vicious mobs, seething with fury. Preparations for departure are hurried, for leave they must. But the building of the temple goes resolutely on. Even though they must leave it, a completed temple must stand here, a shrine to their faith.

 

Nauvoo becomes a hive of emergency activities---a factory making wagons---a store selling and packing provisions---a blacksmith shoeing horses, pounding out wagon tires. Wagon master Jack Carter, in this trade, talks with hunters and trappers. He checks their maps, asking about the unknown wastelands westward.

 

Families with heavy hearts sort out their needs from among their treasured possessions, and prepare to leave their homes. But the mobs will not wait. Brigham Young orders the saints to move. NOW! The wagons line up hurriedly as best they can.

 

It is bitter cold February now---but the wagons begin to roll, while those who are without wagons must flee on foot across the icebound Mississippi River to the Iowa side. In looking back they face the final insult. Their magnificent temple is silhouetted in the fire, and many of their homes are in flames--their city, Nauvoo the beautiful, lights the exodus!

 

Across the river they move on nine miles beyond the Mississippi and camp beside a muddy trickle called Sugar Creek. From here, they will push on, for the vision lies to the west. Violence behind them, dark uncertainty ahead, now in the shivering dawn they humbly appeal for help as they kneel on the frozen ground.

 

 

Prayer for a Safe Journey

Oh God, we bow our heads before thee,

We ask thy blessing, we ask thy mercy.

Oh God, we pray for courage to move on,

Across the plain through high terrain,

Until at last we find a land still new and kind...

Our promised land!

Oh God, we bow our heads before thee,

We ask thy mercy.

Guide us by day and guard us by night,

Show us the way through perilous flight.

Until our eyes behold the place

Show us the way!

Show us the way, we pray.

 

 

All Faces West

All Faces West!

We must move onward to the mountain crest,

We’ll have to do our best,

To overcome hardship lest we lose our zest for freedom,

All faces westward,

Courage, it takes to go,

We must move on,

We must move on,

And so it’s all faces west!

Let’s have a song...a song....

We’re on our way to find the place,

We’ll find the land where we can build our home.

There isn’t room for doubt or fear

Let’s cast them out right here

We’ll have to fight our way and blaze the trail along.

The distant mountains beckon us on;

Move on, on with the sun.

All faces west!

We must move onward to the mountain crest,

We’ll have to do our best

To overcome hardship lest we lose our zest for freedom,

All faces west!

Courage, it takes to go,

We must move on, we must move on,

And so it’s all faces west!

 

 

Now they must call upon all the resources available as they journey into the unknown. They must verify all information they have gleaned from traders and from trappers.

 

They chance upon the camp of that great missionary explorer, Father Dismet, known to the Indians as Black Robe. This unofficial goodwill ambassador has chosen the great west as his mission field, traveling from tribe to tribe and from outpost to outpost. Here is a man who, unarmed and unharmed, has seen the distant, rugged ranges, and knows the location of every water hole in the west. He even tells of the great salton sea far to the westward. When they have checked landmarks, crossings, and campsites, they bid him farewell and move on again, ever westward.

 

The courage of the women was often the needed touch of inspiration. Jack Carter plainly shows his weariness, his discouragement, and his frustrations after a long, hard day. But his wife,Mary Ann, inspires him to new hope and renews the vision as she sings, “We’re Young and We’re Strong.”

 

 

We're Young and We're Strong

We’re young, and we’re strong,

And the future belongs to us

Who have will to go on

Somewhere there’s a haven,

a home nearer heaven,

where things will be lovely in the spring

Come, my darling,

come, my dear,

Happiness, I know, will follow us there.

We’re young,

and we’re strong,

Yes, the future belongs to us

Things will be lovely in the spring.

 

 

Moving On

Days go on, moving on, with the sun,

Weary, yes, heading west, with the sun

Just so wheels keep going ‘round,

Won’t be long ‘til home we’ve found,

 

Days go on, moving on, with the sun.

Rivers must be crossed,

And burning plains traversed

Until he says "This is the Place",

Just so wheels keep going ‘round,

Won’t be long ‘til home we’ve found,

 

Days go on, moving on, with the sun

With the sun.

 

 

A new day. Again it is the vision that draws them westward. On they trudge through wet and frosty March, through torrential, muddy April and May. Garden Grove and Mt. Pisgah, beautiful and thriving temporary settlements, are left behind as they move on towards the unconquered lands.

 

Not far beyond their night camp rise spirals of blue smoke from an Indian village. Feeling deeply their mutual need for friendship, Brigham Young visits the Indians, his Lamanite brethren. In quiet dignity the Pottowatami chieftain awaits Brigham Young.

 

“WELCOME,” he says, “The prairies are wide. The sky covers many people. There is room here for white men and red men both. The buffalo are many. The warming breezes will carry away the smokes from many tepees. The hand of friendship is fed by a warm heart. Let us be friends that the Great White Spirit may be pleased and befriend us both, We are brothers, for we, too, are a driven people.”

 

We too are a Driven People

Come thou in peace white brother,

Come thou in peace white brother,

The winds bring message of your sorrow.

We know and understand your sorrow

For we, too, are a driven people.

 

We come in peace, brown brother, Only in peace.

We travel on beyond the arrow’s flight,

Seeking a land unbroken and untouched.

We come in peace, brown brother, only in peace.

 

Go thou in peace white brother,

Go thou in peace white brother,

I speak for the chief and the braves.

We know and understand your sorrow.

For we too, are a driven people.

 

 

There is tragedy behind them but a promised land before. There is healing in the springtime, new vigor in the air. And assurance of God’s goodness all about them, everywhere.

 

Hear the lumbering creak of wagons moving ever westward -- through the treeless reaches of Nebraska, parallel to the Platte, but north of the river; through the dust that lies like flour graying the green of the spring with the dry heat of sudden summer.

 

Day after day of gopher holes and dust, windstorms and mud, and spirits begin to sag. People grumble and complain, and grumbling is a creeping danger. It can spread and defeat them. It must be curbed. Brother Brigham has a way.

 

He speaks: “Mud, you don’t like it. Dust, it dries the throat. Heat, it blisters the skin, so you grumble. Well, who grumbles loudest? Find him, take your troubles to him, and we shall appoint him “Camp grumbler.” (laughter) They find heart to laugh, and laughter lightens the journey.The cookpots swinging from the wagons give promise of hot food ahead. In love, in faith, a little in fear, beneath the big open sky they camp for the night. (Campfire Music, “RedWing”, plays as this poem is read: )

 

O, the music round the campfire and the smell of thin blue smoke!

O, the dancing, deepening friendships! Laughter tossed behind a joke!

O, the beauty of the starlight, and the courage of the dance!

O, the gladness of the rhythm! Circle all, retreat, advance.

O, the magic of the music and the restfulness of song!

O, the singing and the dancing laced with joy, no road is long!

 

 

Prairie Music

Oh, there’s music tonight across the prairie

Coyotes crying, night birds flying

Oh there’s music in the air across the prairie,

Prairie music only plainsmen hear and know

There's a straying cayuse without a rider,

And her neighing is lonesome and low

Oh there is music tonight across the prairie

Prairie Music, only plainsmen hear and know

It’s in the wind that sings the sage to sleep,

It’s in the stir of all who night watch keep

Oh, there’s music in the air across the prairie

Prairie music only plainsmen hear and know.

 

Come Join the Dancing

Rest all your worries and rest all your woes

And let’s have a party on the prairie,

Laughter’s a tonic most anywhere

So let’s dance away,

sing away troubles and care!

Come join the dancing, sister Nellie, sister Sue,

A few lively steps will be just the thing for you,

I know you’ve traveled mile on mile the long way through,

So, come join the dancing , sister Nellie, sister Sue.

 

Brother James,...Brother John!

Come join the dancing, Brother James, Brother,John

A little recreation and the way won’t seem so long,

We’ve set a time for work And we’ve set a time for song,

s-o-o Come join the dancing Brother James, Brother John!

A-stepping and a’swinging and a -playing and a-singing AWAY!

 

 

What a Wonderful Night for Singing

"It's natural like when folks a-like just singing when they can,

And a person can when the work is done

This has been a day of dusting plodding miles,

We camp and have our supper, then we gather 'round the fire,

What a wonderful evening for singing,

As we rest from the toils of the day.

It's a comforting pleasure to visit each other And listen to tales of the way

What a wonderful night on the prairie

'Tis a suitable time for a song

By the embers warm light we will sleep through the night,

In the cool of the soft summer's air,

What a wonderful evening for singing a song

Of the goodness of nature we share.

 

 

Good Night, My Love

Good night, my love,

until some new tomorrow

Finds you standing by my side

For when you’re near me my world is filled with promise,

As a ship returning with the tide.

 

Good night my love,

and may your sleep be sweet

Until I hear your voice, caressing as a song,

Quiet as night and lovely as the dawn.

 

Show us the way, show us the way, we pray

 

 

Cry Indian

I see dark forms there on the skyline

Dark forms there in the moonlight,

They must be Indians, it's a band of indians,

And they're moving down upon us,

they are coming right this way!

Remember FEED THEM BUT DO NOT FIGHT THEM!

Give them what you think will please them!

Remember, feed them, but do not fight them.

 

 

Food is given to the indians. They dance. One warrior takes a young blonde girl by the arm and raises his tomahawk. The indian strikes with his weapon, thus cutting off a lock of blonde hair, which he has never seen before.

 

At Council Bluffs on the Missouri, Captain James Allen of the United States Army rides into camp. He informs Brigham Young that the United States is at war with Mexico. A battalion of men is needed. Here is sacrifice. These young men are sorely needed by their people. Here also is opportunity. Actual employment for five hundred men. Money that is needed to help establish a permanent settlement in the mountains. It is a call to serve their country. Part of them for this company are needed at once. An assembly is called.

 

 

The Mormon Battalion

Attention! Camps of Israel! We are most honored.

For here with us today are gentlemen from Washington,

Officers of our United States Army. Captain Allen,

you have come to speak to us.

What can we do for you?

 

Thank you, Mr. Young, for your courtesy.

We are now at war.

Mexico is now our foe

Americans, we must have soldiers.

The government requests fighting men to fight for us.

We ask you, will you assist us?

I pledge that I will see fair play in the days that lie ahead.

And I accept the Captain's pledge,

I believe what he has said."

All in favor, say Ay!"

AY!

Opposed? No?

There are no No's.

You shall have your men and a Mormon Battalion will be ready within a week

If younger men are few, the older men will join them too.

We'll have a Mormon Battalion

Thank you, Mr. Young, for your duty well done.

Let us hope it won't be long 'til they return to you again,

with honor and fame and glory.

You shall have your men, a Mormon Battalion,

it will be ready within a week.

If younger men are few, the older men will join them too,

and we'll have a Mormon Battalion.

Then conquer we must when our cause it is just,

And this is our motto,

In God is our trust

Oh Say, does that star spangled banner yet wave,

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

 

A young boy marches off the stage beating a drum. He is called back by Brigham Young who says to him "Not yet, David, not yet".

 

The Mormon Battalion will march farther than infantry has ever marched before. Farther than Zenomen’s men. Farther than Donovan’s. In three days the Mormon Battalion was mustered, organized, and ready to march to Fort Leavenworth. Behind them are left friends, family, and sweethearts. Like the going forth of soldiers everywhere, the strength they take with them becomes the strength of those they leave behind.

 

 

I Shall Come Running

I shall be watching and I shall be waiting
Out where the mountains encircle the sky...
For one day I’ll hear you, and one day I’ll see you,
Home you’ll be coming as homing birds fly.
Now is the dark hour, the dark hour is crying,
Loneliness knocks, and I open the door.
You take the one road and I take the other,
Both roads are long roads, and both roads go far.
But I shall be watching and I shall be waiting
Out where the mountains encircle the lea.
For one day I’ll see you, and I shall come running,
Home will enfold us for home we will be.

 

 

Where the Platte unravels like an unbraided rope, they cross the river and follow up the northern strand into Wyoming. This is a fallow land, a land as fallow as hearts of hatred they have left behind. It is a land where the first wagon trails are marked with the unmistakable patterns of death. Many who brave its crossing shall never reach the valley, some of the children shall never glimpse even the beginnings of the new Zion. Yet the vision is also theirs, and its fulfillment, in God’s own time.

Hush! The quiet muffled weeping, fervent prayer and lonely mound!
Still the forward march at sunrise--don’t delay or look around at the trampled, new-turned ground....
There are deserts to be conquered, there are kingdoms to be proved.
There are temples to be built, and by faith the hills are moved.
There is glory in God’s message. Joy is greater far than grief.
All that lives is of the spirit, and the body is a leaf
That is tossed by winds of autumn.
But the great tree never dies.
Faith is cloth that deftly dries---futile tears and tired eyes.

 

 

Fly Lower Birds

We call it death, this strange and still repose---
We call it death, this quiet sleep.
How helpless, we who stand and watch and wait,
We call it death, and bow our heads, and weep.
Here by the roadside one is left, one who grew weary by the way....
Fly lower birds, and sing your sweet, familiar song...
Grow taller grass, and cover this new mound---
Blow softly winds, for he whose journey ended here

In alien ground.

 

 

Come, Come Ye Saints by William Clayton

a Medley arranged by Roland Parry including "Oh Ye Mountains High" and "Praise to the Man"

 

Come, come ye saints,

no toil or labor fear,

But with joy wend your way.

Though hard to you

this journey may appear

Grace shall be

as your day.

‘Tis better far for us to strive,

our useless cares from us to drive.

Do this and joy your hearts will swell!

All is well, all is well.

Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah

Kings shall extol him and nations revere.

Praise to his memory

Though hard to you

this journey may appear

Grace shall be as your day

We’ll make the air with music ring

He died as a martyr

Shout praises to our God and King

Do this and joy,

your heart will swell

All is well, all is well.

Oh ye mountains high

where the clear blue sky

Arches over the vale of the free

Where the pure breezes blow

And the clear streamlets flow

How I long to your bosom to flee

‘Tis better far for us to strive

Our useless cares from us to drive.

Gird up your loins fresh courage take

Our God will never us forsake

God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

and All is well, All is well, all is well

 

 

Now there are rivers to cross with names that will sing down through history....Big Sandy, Little Sandy, Green River, Black’s Fork, Sulphur Creek. From Jim Bridger’s fort the intrepid pioneers move directly west by way of Hasting’s Trail, and along the way, among the wild currents and dog daisies, they meet Jim Bridger himself, and Miles Goodyear, coming up from where the Ogden joins the Weber. Brigham seeks advice from these men who know the western reaches so well. Bridger, too, is curious.

 

“Where do you expect to find refuge for all them people back there?

“In the valley of the great Salt Lake.” Brigham replies.

“I’ll give you a hundred dollars for every bushel of corn you can raise on that desert!” says Bridger.

“We shall grow corn,” Brigham promises, and he leads his people onward.

 

The distant purple peaks loom larger every day. Then they move into the mountains and probe like prospectors for a canyon that will let them through. Walled in by cliffs of red clay and sandstone, they hack their way through willow and oak, up one ravine and down another. Then one canyon opens into a broad, flat valley, silver ribboned by mountain streams. The vision lies bleak before them, concealed in gray sage and white alkali, resting in quiet ugliness like a rose bush in December snows. Hemmed in by distant mountains, a shimmering light reflects from a great salton sea, rimmed by glaring white salt.

 

But in Brigham Young, the vision remains secure. Weakened by mountain fever, the great leader is helped from his wagon. Gazing across the desert floor, he is enrapt in vision. Turning to Wilford Woodruff he says, “It is enough, THIS IS THE PLACE.”

 

 

This is the Place

This place in vision once before I’ve seen,
This sky---these mountains high.
The valley far below, all this I know,
This is the Place!
Here will we stay and worship
Here will we stay, and from this wilderness will rise--a city, beautiful.
Here will we build our homes......beautiful!
Far have we come to make this place our own.
These lands will fertile grow, these mountain streams will flow,
All this I see and know, Lord, God, be praised!
Thou hast led us to our promised land.
My soul cries out in gratitude, this is the place we seek,
THANKS BE TO GOD!

 

 

This, a promised land? 1200 miles of broken road behind them, before them a stubborn lakebed, a sea of salt. Exhausted, awed, perplexed, sorely disappointed, Harriet, voicing the dispair of others, cries out, “Weak and weary as I am, I’d rather go 1000 miles farther than remain in this forsaken place. Sam Brannon, newly arrived from San Francisco to try and persuade Brigham Young to continue on to the garden spots of the west coast, takes one look at the arid scene and says, “Nobody else on earth would want this desolate land.” But Brigham Young, strong with the courage of his convictions, silences all their complaints with, “Let others cry---we have no time for sorrow---let us get to the work at hand! Divert the streams! Sharpen the ploughs! Sow the Seeds! And leave the crying to others.

 

 

Where are the Flowers? (Harriet’s Complaint)

Where are the flowers I’ve dreamed about?
Where are the trees and the morning dew?
Is our home to be made in a wilderness
After our fair Nauvoo?
Where are the flowers?
Where are the trees?
Is this our land of promise?
Say not so, for weak and weary as I am,
I’d rather go a thousand miles farther
Than remain here in this sad forsaken plain!

 

 

Surely We can't stay Here (Brannon's Complaint)

You call this place a home? This sullen spot--a wasted country God forgot!
But beyond these hills lies a western sea and fields as fertile as fields can be.
Surely you’ll not stay here where nothing grows.
Surely we can’t stay here where nothing grows.
Not leaf nor grain nor even wild rose,
No one on earth would want this lonely place---
Let us go on to fresher, greener space.

 

 

Let Other's Cry

Let others cry, we have no time for weeping,
Tears are for those who have no work to do,
If there’s a place on earth no others covet,
This is the place for me.....for you.
So, love this land and treat it with all kindness.
Divert these streams to soak the arid crusts.
Plow through and plant the precious seedlings;
Let others cry, but let it not be us.
Divert the streams,
Let waters freely flow,
This means our lives!
The things we plant must grow.

 

 

They are reminded that the vision could become a reality, if they will but set their hands to the plow and their hearts to the task. Thus inspired, they go down into the valley, armed with the conviction that this is their promised land. They kneel in dedication, and then arise to plow the crusted earth with mountain streams They plow the virgin soil and hopefully plant their treasured seeds. Almost overnight, mills spring up along the creeks. A city of log cabins and adobe houses rise. Then the ageless miracle that follows planting; life springs from the earth. Only a meager harvest is reaped when the cool of autumn overtakes them. But harvest time is celebration time, a time for Thanksgiving. Hardships and worries are forgotten as they gather, young and old, to sing, to dance, to rejoice.

 

 

Harvest Time

(Men): The work is done and all is well and now it’s time to have a celebration
It’s time for recreation
(Women): Here’s brother Brigham!
(Brigham Young): Good morning, good morning everyone!
(Women): Good morning, Brother Brigham, It gives us joy to see you here.
(Men): Oh Brother Brigham, what a glorious radiant morning!
(B.Y.)‘Tis a glorious day, indeed...let us rejoice.
(Mixed chorus) ‘Tis a glorious day indeed, let us rejoice!
(B.Y.) *We’ll have a festival
‘Twill be a day to recall...
A time of gaiety for one and all.
A joyous holiday,
We’ll sing and dance away.
For harvest time is here, we’ll celebrate today!

 

 

How can such a Strong Man get so Weak in the Knees?

Oh, I thought love was wonderful, and I thought love was grand.
I thought that being in love would be like leading a big brass band.
But I was wrong, yes, I was wrong---this truth I can’t forget.
The deeper do you fall in love, the weaker do you get.
You’re as fresh as a raindrop, you’re as sweet as honeybees.
How can such a strong man get so weak in the knees?
You’re as soft as a ewe lamb, something I would like to squeeze.
How can such a strong man get so weak in the knees?
But he can,yes, he can, it can be, look at me...
I can’t eat and I can’t sleep. What’s happened to my fine physique?
I’m no good, I just feel weak. What’s happened to my fine physique?
I can’t plow, and I can’t hoe. How’s my garden going to grow?
I’m no good, I just feel low---is that the way love’s meant to go?
You’re as cute as a kitten, you’re as bonny as a breeze
How can such a strong man get so weak in the knees?

 

 

The Mormon Battalion Returns

(Brigham Young) “Welcome home, brethren, men of the Mormon Battalion. We indeed are blessed , for you have returned at last! All is well, all is well, here in the valley, where you will build your home.
(Tenor, Jack Carter) Home, what a wonderful word. Home, it’s a beautiful word!
( Duet, Brigham Young, Jack Carter, Tenor)
(Jack Carter) It’s good to be here with everyone,
(Brigham Young) You were loyal, you answered the call.
But the war is over, and the trek is over too....
(Jack Carter) Now I’m sure we’ll never hear that march, two, three four, again!
(B.Y...)It’s good to be counted Americans, you were loyal, you answered the call
But now you’re with us, let us all rejoice! “I’ll give you a song!
(Jack Carter) We join in the song,we ring out a glad joyous melody
Here in the valley, here in the mountains,
Hardships were many, but now we’ have come home.....
I can scarcely wait, where can we build our homes?
(Brigham Young) Over yonder there.....there where the roadway slopes...
So we give thanks, let us rejoice today, let us celebrate....on with the dance!

 

 

The Happy Hoe Down

Something’s in the air, feel it everywhere,
What’s that over there where crowds are crowding,
You just try to count them all....
Rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief,
Doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief will be there!
And guess who else---the mayor is in there, too!
So we’ll all turn out to tell the world what it’s about
*Oh, it’s a happy-go-lucky hoe-down, chasing your cares away,
We’ll dance ‘til dawn on the neighbor’s lawn,
Singing a song, it’s a hoe-down.
Pick out a pretty partner, swing her from here and out,
It’s allemande left, swing her around
Do it up brown, it’s a hoe-down.
We know tomorrow will come, so let it,
Today’s the day of the year we’re going to forget it!
Oh, it’s a happy-go-lucky hoe-down, chasing your cares away
We’ll dance ‘til dawn on the neighbor’s lawn
Singing a song it’s a hoe-down.*...(Repeat between stars*)
Singing a so-o-o-ong, it’s a hoe-down

 

 

The hardships that first winter in Utah were almost beyond belief. Only by the most rigid rationing of their precious rain crop, supplemented by the roots of the Sego Lily and the Thistle, augmented by an occasional rabbit, were they able to survive. Throughout the winter companies of saints continued to arrive from Winter Quarters. All have known hunger.

Many are ill....many have known trepidation of spirit. But here in the valley they share their food and provisions among their brothers. Here are men, women, and children acquainted with grief and familiar with hardship. Shaped by adversity, theirs is a courage without end. Though deepening trials throng your way, press on, press on, ye saints of God. (threatening cricket background music) Then spring comes with the welcoming sound of brook water escaping its blockade of ice. Eager shoots of wheat are greening the hills, .and furrows. released from snow, are steaming brown in the sun.

 

 

The Miracle of the Gulls, Green are the Shoots

(Soprano) Green are the shoots and tender the vines And wondrous the sight of new things growing and growing....A-aah...wondrous the sight of their growing......
(Tenor) Green are the shoots and wondrous the sight of their growing...
(Tenor) Green are the shoots and tender the vines and wondrous the sight of new things growing and growing...A-a-ah....the sight of their growing, growing, growing...
(Soprano) Green are the shoots and wondrous the sight of their growing,growing, growing
(Tenor)Blessed by the sun and warmed by the rain, wondrous the sight of life giving grain...
Thanks be to God for life giving grain, how wondrous the sight of its growing
((Mixed chorus) Thanks be to God for life giving grain
How wondrous the sight of its growing (Men’s chorus) Growing, growing....
(Mixed chorus) Wondrous the growing grain....

 

 

The wheat shows yellow-green against the good earth. Plans go leaping ahead to the prospects of a good harvest. Suddenly the skies darken....something moves.....comes nearer and nearer and nearer....and swarms over the carefully nurtured fields....a strange rain, a murky rain....a terrible rain of hungry crickets devouring, destroying....

 

 

A Dark and Evil Cloud

Look to the eastward, turn to the mountain
What is the dark cloud rising there?
See how it moves on, comes even nearer....darkness and evil from nowhere appear!
Tragic the coming, ruthless the ravage!
Oncoming hordes bringing grief and despair
Stripping the stalks and crushing the leaflets,
Crushing the leaflets so green and so fair!
Stripping the stalks and crushing the leaflets
We must destroy them before they destroy us!STAMP them out, FLAIL them out, CRUSH THEM AND BEAT THEM.
But thousands and thousands come on never-ending,
Nothing we do is enough to defeat them.
Going the green shoots, going the blossoms,
STAMP them out, FLAIL them out, CRUSH THEM AND BEAT THEM!
Again will the valley be empty and bare.

 

 

A Prayer of Supplication

Oh God, our God, be merciful unto us.
We are most desolate....we are most helpless
This evil thing has come upon us....and we are desolate.
Show us thy mercy. Show us thy goodness
(B.Y.and chorus) For we have traveled far to find a home
(B.Y. solo) And now, without thy help....we perish. Preserve us Lord.
(Soloist and choris) For in thee now we put our trust.

 

 

The Fluttering of a Thousand Wings

Look to the westward! Turn to the lake shore!
A snow white cloud is rising high!
The whirring of a thousand wings...bright eyed birds with a plaintive cry.
What are thy bringing? What are they seeking?
Little remains for them to deface. See how their brightness shadows the sunlight.
Shrill, white birds from an unknown place,
(Tenor, soprano duet) Dipping and soaring, ever returning,
Ridding the valley of loathsome, crawling things.
Dipping and soaring, ever returning...
Thanks be to God, thanks be to God for the flutter of a thousand wings.
(Tenor) See how their whiteness covers the crawling fields.
The snow white cloud ascends again, again, and again..
The whirring of a thousand wings....
Bright-eyed birds with a plaintive cry,....
Once more their brightness shadows the sunlight.
Shrill, white birds from an unknown place....
(Mixed chorus) Dipping and soaring, ever returning,
Ridding the valley of loathsome things. Dipping and soaring, ever returning....
(Interlude of mixed chorus variations)
Thanks be to God for the flutter of wings.
(Tenor solo) For the flutter of a thousand wings.
Thanks be to God for the flutter of wings.

 

 

Inspired by a vision, led by their shining faith, they came and took possession of this unlovely land, nurtured it, survived it, and brought it richness and beauty beyond even their own bright expectations, and with a deep satisfaction that none but people with courage and vision are privileged to know. We have traced their deeds and the way they came, shared the path they trod. They loved, gave birth, they sorrowed, and rejoiced. They died, and passing on they built with mortal hands something immortal....a heritage wonderful for me.....and for you.Together they shared a vision of the future, wherein people of all nations and faiths will build a path to God’s kingdom that will touch all mankind.

 

 

Then Shall the Desert Blossom as a Rose

Then shall the desert blossom as a rose,
And nature be subdued by willing toil,
Fields shall grow fertile, barren plains shall yield,
And mountain streams give drink to burning soil.
From this dull sod, a temple to our God,
Carved from the granite of hills.
Then shall the desert blossom as a rose.
A mighty empire grows...
This is the place.
The mountains of the Lord’s house...
Shall be established in the top of the mountains...
Sing, O daughters, of Zion....
Shout, Oh, Israel, and be glad, and rejoice!
Then shall the desert blossom as a rose,
And from this land a mighty empire shall rise.
Harvest and food in plenty grace the land and countryside,
And cities rise in beauty to the skies.
From this dull sod a temple to our God...
Carved from the granite of hills.
Then shall the desert blossom as a rose
A mighty empire grows.
THIS IS THE PLACE...
Praise be to God..Praise be to God...Praise be to God!