The wintry day descending to its close

Another year dwindles to its closing hours. From my perspective, it has been a good one, and the Lord has smiled with favor upon us as individuals and as a family. I express my love and gratitude to Him, the Giver and Sustainer of all that is good, and to each of you, members of my family, who are among the delights of my life.

As the year descends to its close, I am reminded of a nostalgic poem written by Orson F. Whitney, which was later set to music and placed in our hymnal, about the settling of the Mountain West by the Mormon pioneers. I first remember this hymn from the years when I was a teenager in Idaho.

The wintry day, descending to its close,
Invites all wearied nature to repose,
And shades of night are falling dense and fast,
Like sable curtains falling o'er the past.
Pale through the gloom the newly fallen snow
Wraps in a shroud the silent earth below
As though 'twere mercy's hand had spread the pall,
A symbol of forgiveness unto all.

I cannot go to rest but linger still
In meditation at my window sill,
While, like the twinkling stars in heaven's dome,
Come one by one sweet memories of home.
And wouldst thou ask me where my fancy roves
To reproduce the happy scenes it loves,
Where hope and memory together dwell
And paint the pictured beauties that I tell?

Away beyond the prairies of the West,
Where exiled Saints in solitude were blest,
Where industry the seal of wealth has set
Amid the peaceful vales of Deseret,
Unheeding still the fiercest blasts that blow,
With tops encrusted by eternal snow,
The towering peaks that shield the tender sod
Stand, types of freedom reared by nature's God.

The wilderness, that naught before would yield,
Is now become a fertile, fruitful field.
Where roamed at will the fearless Indian band,
The templed cities of the Saints now stand.
And sweet religion in its purity
Invites all men to its security.
There is my home, the spot I love so well,
Whose worth and beauty pen nor tongue can tell.

Orson F. Whitney was born in Salt Lake City, Utah Territory, on July 1, 1855, just eight years after Brigham Young led the first band of pioneers into the valley. He was a grandson of Newel K. Whitney and Heber C. Kimball. Orson was a businessman, journalist, historian, professor, politician, and poet. He was called as an Apostle and sustained on April 9, 1906, the same day as David O. McKay, and served in the Quorum of the Twelve until he died at age 75 on May 16, 1931, some three and a half years before my parents were married.

When he was 21 years old, young Orson was called to serve a mission in Pennsylvania. During that mission, he had a remarkable dream that would surely contribute many years later to his calling as a special witness of the Savior:

"I thought I was in the garden of Gethsemane, a witness of the Savior's agony. I seemed to be standing behind a tree in the foreground of the picture, from which point I could see without being seen. The Savior, with the Apostles Peter, James and John, entered the garden through a little wicket gate at my right, where he stationed them in a group, telling them to pray. He then passed over to my left, but still in front of me, where he knelt and prayed also. His face, which was towards me, streamed with tears, as he besought the Father to let the cup pass, and added, 'not my will but thine be done.' Having finished his prayer, he arose and crossed to where the Apostles were kneeling fast asleep. He shook them gently, they awoke and he reproved them for their apathy. Again he bade them pray, and again crossed to his place and prayed, returning as before to find them sleeping. This happened three times, until I was perfectly familiar with his face, form and movements. He was much taller than ordinary men, and though meek, far more dignified than any being I had ever beheld; and he wore a look of ineffable tenderness and compassion, even while reproving His disciples. My heart went out to him as never before to anybody or to anything; I loved him with all my soul. I wept at seeing him weep, and felt for him the deepest sympathy.

"Then of a sudden the circumstances changed, though the scene remained the same. Instead of before the crucifixion, it was after. The Savior and the three Apostles, whom he had beckoned to him, now stood in a group at the left, and were about to take their departure, ascending into heaven. I could endure it no longer, but rushed out from behind the tree, fell at his feet, clasped him around the knees and begged him to take me also. With a look of infinite tenderness, as of a father or an elder brother, he stooped, lifted me up and embraced me, saying as he did so in the kindest and gentlest manner possible, while slowly shaking his head and sweetly smiling, 'No, my son, these can go with me; for they have finished their work; but you must stay and finish yours!' Still I clung to him, and the contact was so real that I felt the warmth of his bosom as I rested upon it. Gazing up into his face, I once more besought him, 'Well, promise me that I will come to you at the last.' Again he smiled sweetly, and there was a look as if he would have gladly granted my request had it been wise to do so. He then said, 'That will depend entirely upon yourself.'

"I awoke with a sob, and it was morning. This dream made a wonderful impression upon me, paving the way to my thorough conversion, which soon followed. Among the things it taught me was not to sleep at my post, and to regard first the duties of my mission, and not allow anything to interfere with them" (adapted from entry on Orson F. Whitney in LDS Biographical Encyclopedia; see also "Through Memories' Halls," 1930, 82; quoted in Bryant Hinckley, The Faith of Our Pioneer Fathers, 211-13).