“Lucy Mack Smith,” Ensign, Mar. 1978, 43
My father wandered labyrinthine ways
Of wars and wealth, of sorrow, earth, and sea
For years, until he fled the darkened maze
To hear his Savior’s call: “Come unto me.”
My sister held the slightest trace of breath.
I trembled fears my faith could not control
Until she rose, so bright, unheld by death.
The Lord had healed her body and my soul.
And now my Joseph’s coming, young and slim,
His brother’s shirt to big, hair out of place,
And breathless he speaks, praising, “I’ve seen Him,”
The suns of planets glowing in his face.
No Gabriel is needed at my door.
I’ve seen such light come resting twice before.