Music of Nauvoo
song lyrics
Navuoo - the City Beautiful
She rose up from a swampland, a disease-infested marsh,
By a people, poor and driven, in conditions bleak and harsh.
The streets soon filled with wagons, the shops with busy trade,
The quarry gave it's treasures, the town’s foundations laid.
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From the blacksmith and the brickyard, to the tinsmith and the mill,
It became the city beautiful, forged by grit and skill.
From the grove their prophet taught them of a loving Father’s plan,
Of salvation for the children, and the destiny of man.
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Steamships plied her waters
Bringing those from sundry lands
Then they helped to build the city
With their skilled and willing hands
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Did you hear the widows’ keening and the sobs of Lucy Mack,
When they learned their sons and husbands, were never coming back?
To seal a prophet’s testament, they joined the martyred dead,
Through that portal to the heavens, glory be upon their heads.
Like the blood-red clouds of morning or the sunset of the day,
Despots thought their cause was ended, they surely wouldn’t stay
But they finished up their temple, a beacon on the hill,
To partake of sacred blessing, and to do their Father’s will.
Steamships plied her waters
bringing those from sundry lands.
Then they helped to build the city
With their skilled and willing hands.
Joseph - a Prophet For Our Day
I passed by Brother Joseph's house as I made my way along.
To me, a child, he seemed so tall, a prophet, firm and strong.
But even then I realized what a blessing it could be,
Of all the people that he knew he stopped and talked to me.
At times he came and joined our games, pulling sticks and playing ball.
He found the time to spend with us and was a friend to all.
He loved to hold his family and bounced them on his knee,
and set a perfect pattern of how I wanted mine to be.
I heard him preach on Temple Hill the Spirit there bore sway.
That God had called a prophet true, one fitted for our day.
One day we walked by Joseph's house, my sister Ruth and me.
The streets were mud, we soon bogged down, shoes stuck as they could be.
As he pulled us from the miry street and wiped our tears away.
I gazed into the kindest eyes. I'll not forget that day.
A brother walked to work one day, his boots were badly worn.
He worked to lay the temple stone, his clothes were tattered, torn.
The Prophet stopped him in the street and bid him follow there,
He bought that brother brand new boots. In kindness he would share.
I heard him preach on Temple Hill the Spirit there bore sway.
That God had called a prophet true, one fitted for our day.
One day I walked by Joseph's house amidst a mourning throng,
And gazed upon those brothers dear, whose lives had been so wronged.
Now time has flown, I've traveled far, yet this much I can say,
I'm glad that I knew Joseph Smith, a prophet for our day.
I heard him preach on Temple Hill the Spirit there bore sway.
That God had called a prophet true, one fitted for our day.
I heard him preach on Temple Hill the Spirit there did say.
That God had called a prophet true, one fitted for our day.
Extraordinary
From the modest Nauvoo parlor, of Sarah Granger Kimball,
Sprang an idea and a vision that became a sacred symbol
of the sisterhood of women and the good that they can do.
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With the prophet Joseph’s blessing and eternity in view.
Like a pebble dropped in water, casting ripples in the pond.
Inspiring acts of kindness for a lifetime and beyond.
Extraordinary, in Emma’s words, would be the things they do.
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As gentle ripples touch the world, her message still rings true.
Charity never faileth became their angel’s call.
In God’s own way great things proceed
from that which seems so small.
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There is beauty, there is kindness, in their collective helping hands.
There is unity and purpose where the Relief Society stands.
Their reward will be eternal in that starry, heav’nly realm
When the Savior whom they follow will be standing at the helm.
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Charity never faileth became their angel’s call.
In God’s own way great things proceed
from that which seems so small.
Extraordinary would be the things they do.
Women of Nauvoo
Not with timid resignation,
But with courage forged in fire,
They chose to be the home guard,
To lift and to inspire.
They cleared a place to build their homes
A disease infested marsh,
And thanked their God for Zion
Through times both blessed and harsh.
They helped their men serve missions.
And kept the home fires burning.
They taught and cared for children
Midst their loneliness and yearning.
Their homes were less than humble,
Their possessions less than scant.
Tho' mobs would come deride their faith
Their vows they'd not recant.
And when the God in Heaven
Rewards us for what we do,
Among the blessed, honored saints
Will be the women of Nauvoo.
And when the God in Heaven
Rewards us for what we do,
Among the blessed, honored saints
Will be the women of Nauvoo.
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They reached out to their neighbors,
Love was their guiding force.
They helped to build the temple,
They walked a cov'nant course.
Their perspective was eternal,
Hope defined their hearts.
They sought the gifts of heaven
Thus chose the better part.
And when the God in Heaven
Rewards us for what we do,
Among the blessed, honored saints
Will be the women of Nauvoo.
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And when the God in Heaven
Rewards us for what we do,
Among the blessed, honored saints
Will be the women of Nauvoo.
Missouri Mule
He came from down Missouri way, a mule of little class
His linage there was dubious; his mother was a…donkey!
You may have never met him here, but you’d have heard him bray.
He could’ve caused the dead to rise when he thought he needed hay.
We hooked him to a freighter’s dray to pull a load to town.
He kicked across the traces there and tore the fences down.
I caught him in the neighbor’s yard a gleaning squash and peas.
He acted like he owned the place, ‘preferred a life of ease.
I learned he had a stubborn streak, he’s bound to cross the line.
My wife contends his stubborn streak ain’t half as wide as mine.
I think it’s true, a fact to rue, I’ll leave it up to you.
As a rule, a man’s a fool, to buy a Missouri mule.
I think it’s true, a fact to rue, I’ll leave it up to you.
As a rule, a man’s a fool, to buy a Missouri mule.
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I showed him my mule-persuader shape like a wagon spoke.
I threatened then to chasten him ’til the stick or he was broke.
We fin’ly reached a mutual truce as shaky as it may be.
I’d forgive his fickleness if he’d put up with me.
I think it’s true, a fact to rue, I’ll leave it up to you.
As a rule, a man’s a fool, to buy a Missouri mule.
I think it’s true, a fact to rue, I’ll leave it up to you.
As a rule, a man’s a fool, to buy a Missouri mule.
Hyrum
No guile nor petty jealousy befouled his noble soul.
And though he was the elder, he understood his role.
He kept his sacred cov'nants, he stood at Joseph's guard.
If sacrifice is faithfulness, how great is his reward!
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He was among the chosen few to heft the golden plates,
And with others bore true witness that would ever change their fates.
No stranger he to hardship, he buried his sweet wife.
Righteous self denial would mark his mortal life.
He persevered through sorrow, and paid a martyr's price.
Thus, by his faith God recognized his selfless sacrifice.
On that lonely road to Carthage prophets, confidants and friends
Had a ling'ring premonition; They’d together meet their ends.
Feeling waves of raw emotion in that swelt'ring prison cell
Hyrum read to to from them from scriptures, dark spirits to dispel.
He persevered through sorrow, and paid a martyr's price.
Thus, by his faith God recognized his selfless sacrifice.
Then footsteps clattered up the stairs, they reached the upper floor.
The pris'ners leapt to thwart the charge and barricade the door.
As bullets pierced the panel, one could almost hear him say,
"I know the way to heaven. Come, this time I'll lead the the way.”
No guile nor petty jealousy befouled his noble soul,
And though he was the elder, he understood his role.
Joseph loved his brother, Hyrum for his integrity of heart.
In life they were not divided, in death were ne'er apart.
Hyrum persevered through sorrow, and paid a martyr's price.
Thus, by his faith God recognized his selfless sacrifice.
His selfless sacrifice.
Dan Jones
Dan Jones was ne’er too tall tho’ stature won’t define the man.
While history echoes Joseph’s words, “God bless this little man.”
He left his home in Wales and he learned the mariner’s art.
He sailed the Mississippi where he found a brand new start.
His ship, “The Maid of Iowa” brought saints from far and near.
And as he came to know them he found nothing there to fear.
To every man who seeks the truth God surely shows the way.
And so he came to be baptized one cold and wintery day.
He touched the lives of thousands through love and courage shown.
Among God’s greatest messengers he’ll be forever known.
And when he met the prophet an eternal friendship bloomed.
Together on the Carthage floor they thought they were doomed.
But in Joseph’s final prophecy Dan’s life would yet be spared
To see his native homeland and to share the gospel there.
He touched the lives of thousands through love and courage shown.
Among God’s greatest messengers he’ll be forever known.
Among God’s greatest messengers he’ll be forever known.
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Dan Jones was ne’er too tall tho’ stature won’t define the man.
While history echoes Joseph’s words, “God bless this little man.”
Forward with Faith
Can I have faith when darksome fog besets me
And let Thy light my compass be?
Can I go on when rivers wide defy me?
On halting knees I turn to Thee.
I will rise up, Thy promises uphold me.
I'll stay that path that leads to Thee.
Forward with faith, my covenants sustain me.
O, bind my path that leads to Thee.
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May I forgive when wicked men assail me
And thus by Thee, forgiven be?
Can I reach out when others' prayers beseech Thee,
That I through Thee, their answer be?
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Behold Thy house, which sacrifice hath built Thee.
O, seal us up with family.
Forward with faith, my covenants sustain me.
O, bind my path that leads to Thee.
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Behold Thy house, which sacrifice hath built Thee.
O, seal us up with family.
Forward with faith, my covenants sustain me.
O, bind my path that leads to Thee.
I can…have faith when darksome fog besets me
And let Thy light my compass be?
Porter
He was six years younger than the teenage Joseph Smith.
Whom he came to almost worship and longed so to be with.
A man of firm conviction, the Prophet's loyal friend.
He was a saint, a sinner, an enigma to the end.
Told not to cut his hair at the Prophet's admonition.
No gun nor blade could harm him in this Samsonesque condition.
I never killed a man," he said, "who didn't need some killin.”
To some this was admission that "Old Port" was more than willin’.
Orrin Porter Rockwell was a living contradiction,
Was his reputation fact or was it fed on fabled fiction?
Was this man an angel or a demon sent from hell?
From the barrel of his rifle it was sometimes hard to tell!
As a lawman he was legend as a tracker knew no peer.
When the outlaws knew he trailed them, they lived in constant fear.
But his entire world was shattered when he heard that Joseph died.
"I've lost my only real friend." Then Porter Rockwell cried.
Orrin Porter Rockwell was a living contradiction,
Was his reputation fact or was it fed on fabled fiction?
Was this man an angel or a demon sent from hell?
From the barrel of his rifle it was sometimes hard to tell!
Orrin Porter Rockwell was a living contradiction,
Was his reputation fact or was it fed on fabled fiction?
Was this man an angel or a demon sent from hell?
From the barrel of his rifle it was sometimes hard to tell!
Exodus from Nauvoo
They had agreed to leave in springtime,
Pressed by the rabble's heavy hand.
But they were forced to leave too early
While winter lay upon the land.
To cross the frigid waters
Was itself a daunting task.
For teams not used to water,
It was more than one should ask.
Horse and oxen shook like aspen leaves
When lead to board the boat.
Frightened children held their mothers
When the craft began to float.
Waves would lash the ferries
On their weary way across,
With heavy hearts and burdens,
Remembering their loss.
Yet God had helped prepare them
For their epic journey west,
Though they faced enduring trials,
They still felt extremely blessed.
When they reached the shore at Montrose,
Their eyes were yearning still,
To see their lovely city
And the temple on the hill.
For they labored in its building,
They quarried out the stone,
But the beauty of the temple
Was not in workmanship alone.
Thus God had helped prepare them
For their epic journey west,
Though they faced enduring trials,
They still felt extremely blessed.
Mobs could steal their property
All earthly things possessing.
But man could never take away
Eternal temple blessings.
Like the tribes of ancient Israel,
Forced to flee and roam
Their eyes and hearts turned westward
To a lasting mountain home.
Thus God had helped prepare them
For their epic journey west,
Though they faced enduring trials,
They still felt extremely blessed.
Yes, God had helped prepare them
For their epic journey west,
Though they faced enduring trials,
They still felt extremely blessed.
Blacksmith's Lament
Hollow ringing of the hammer from the lonely blacksmiths walls,
Echo through the empty houses and abandoned meeting halls.
He lays the hammer on the anvil, and pauses at the door,
And contemplates chaotic scenes not many days before.
A housewife placed her cornstalk broom in its own accustomed place,
Then turned and gently closed the door, wiping tear stains from her face.
No step in cadence measured from the horses iron shoes,
Nor lusty cry of teamsters from the plodding oxen crews.
The silence that he senses is not one of solitude,
But it feels more like a vacuum left by despots, mean and crude.
He prays their tale will be preserved in journals that they keep,
As he looks at silent, shuttered homes and tries hard not to weep.
There is no children’s laughter down here on Parley Street,
No child holding mother’s hand, no image quite that sweet.
But if he listens keenly, he can almost hear them sing
And wonders at the peaceful tune he heard them voice last spring.
The silence that he senses is not one of solitude,
But feels more like a vacuum left by despots, mean and crude.
He prays their tale will be preserved in journals that they keep,
As he looks at silent, shuttered homes and tries hard not to weep.
Their song was not a eulogy, nor yet a funeral knell,
Faith and hope will be their creed, God is with us, all is well.
Old Nauvoo Burial Grounds
Last night I walked through rustling leaves
As one who ponders and who grieves,
About the ones whose still remains
Lie buried there in unmarked lanes.
Who came to Nauvoo poor, unfed
And found a final mortal bed.
Yet kept the Zion dream alive
And raised a banner here to thrive.
They built a city from a swamp
And watched their children laugh and romp.
That temple there on yonder bluff
Proved to their God they gave enough.
My third grandfather's resting there,
Left legacy to which I'm heir.
To serve a mission was the norm,
He perished there in winter's storm.
And left a grieving, widowed wife
With children whom she'd given life.
Amidst the sorrow and the dearth,
She gave him back to Mother Earth.
But like the leaves now sere and brown,
Who have their season, then fall down,
All men like leaves in welcome spring
Burst forth, renewed as living things.
Those buried here, our kindred dead,
Will have new life inherited.
Navuoo - the City Beautiful
part 2
They were forced to wander westward
By the tyrants heavy hand,
They built another haven
From a bitter, barren land.
Where wheat would grace the desert,
It would blossom as a rose,
And there among the mountains,
Another temple rose.
Yet their eyes would oft turn eastward
To that city built with love,
Where they felt the heavens open
With counsel from above.
Have you ever seen the sunrise
On a pleasant Nauvoo morn,
Like the sun that rises slowly,
Joseph’s City is reborn.
Steamships plied her waters
Bringing those from sundry lands
Then they helped to build the city
With their skilled and willing hands.