July 1977

“Waiting,” Ensign, July 1977, 65


(An excerpt, from The Poetical Writings of Orson F. Whitney, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1889.)

Wilt thou never break, O morning?

Shall we ne’er thy dawn behold,

Zion, in thy glory rising,

Might and majesty untold?

Vainly have we watched, awaiting,

Lord, thy promised time of power,

That should rend our chains asunder,

And o’erthrow oppression’s tower?

Nay. Though lowering night may linger,

Glorious morning comes at last;

Day of Zion’s glad redemption—

All her woes forever past.

Mountain peaks of pride are leveled,

Lifted up the lowly plain,

Crookedness made straight, while crudeness

Now gives way to culture’s reign.

Now no tyrant’s sceptre saddens,

Now no bigot’s power can bind

Faith, forevermore unfettered,

Thought no dungeon e’er confined.

Truth, oft crushed, yet never conquered,

Soars aloft on wings of light;

Men behold their Maker’s meaning

Eye to eye with single sight.

All that ages past have promised,

All that noblest minds have prized,

All that holy lips have prayed for,

Here at last is realized.