No compilation of western history would be complete without an account of the Mormon trek to the  Great Salt Lake Valley.  Here's mine.  MORMON HANDCART TRILOGY

               



The Handcart Family, by Torlief Knaphus (1926, life sized bronze), Temple Square, Salt Lake City.  It commemorates the faith and sacrifice of 2,962 pioneers who walked from Iowa and Nebraska to Utah, pushing and pulling handcarts loaded with their possessions and provisions. The following verses attempt to convey the thoughts, fears and prayers of each member of the family (except the baby), in their own words.

       For one account of the Mormon handcart  trek through the rugged, and wild west, see the following web site:
HANDCARTS AGAINST FEARFUL ODDS

 

RAW COURAGE, THE SAVIOR, AND PRAYER
(father)

We’ve a long way to go
before we reach Zion;
but the air has a chill
and the geese are a flyin’….
and the chill and the geese
and the gray in the sky
speak loudly of hard times
a lurking near by.

 I’d enjoy this crisp weather…
my worries would cease,
if we only had wings
and could fly like the geese.
But handcarts move slowly;
and wishes can’t fly-
and there’s nothin’ will ward off
the chill in the sky.

We’re going to reach Zion
though cruel blizzards blow!
It’s going to mean hardship
 and suffering, I know.
There’s a bite to the wind
and there’s fear in the air;
but we've got raw courage
the Savior and prayer.
 

       MAMA'S CART
(mother)

Don't cry little baby mine.
Mama's by your side.
Climb up here on Mama's cart;
and just you rest and ride.

It's been a long, long, cold old day
and little legs get tired.
The ground is soaked from all the rain;
and little feet get mired.

And now the wind is bitter cold.
The rain has turned to sleet.
Let momma take your wet clothes off;
and dry your hands and feet.

Cover up and close your eyes.
Lay down in Mama's cart.
Don't cry little baby mine.
You're breaking mama's heart.

      

      A LONG 15 MILES
(boy)
There’s mud on the trail
And there’s mud all around.
It’s hard trudging through
all the crud on the ground.
A long 15 miles
is the cart brigade’s goal….
and I gotta keep pushin’
and make those wheels roll.

My clothes are all soaked
from the cloud burst at dawn.
I’m cold and I’m tired…
and my grub is near gone.
Gotta push on this cart….
it’s stuck in a hole...
 gotta keep on a  pushin’
and make those wheels roll.

But I’m tired. I ‘m so tired.
I’m hungry and cold-
and I’m weary of hearin’
the old elders scold.
The elders keep sayin'
my hardships are few
compared to the sufferin’
The savior went through.

So I’ll push on the handcart..
with all of my might;
and I know in my heart
that the elders are right.
But I’ll lay down tonight
in my mud-crusted bed,
and I’ll pray that the sun
floods the miles up ahead.  

Bette Wolf Duncan
 copyright 2001