The [Spring Day That Feels Like Summer] Descending to Its Close

The fact that this hymn has been on my mind the last week says a lot about how I've been feeling. Here are verses 2-4 from this beautiful, lesser known hymn that is dear to my heart at the moment.

---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 tow'ring 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.

I attempted to play and sing this song tonight but by the fourth verse the tears I tried to choke back made my singing less than desirable. When I was done, I let the tears flow freely. I do like it here in Arizona, but my heart will always long for what it's always known. And right now that longing is feeling uncomfortably like an aching wound. But no worries. I'll be alright! I suspect these homesick feelings are perfectly normal. Summer is almost here (it already seams like it is since here it's already in the 90s and sometimes 100s), and with it comes my visit back home. Yay! (After sharing that beautiful poetry I feel I should express my anticipation for that happy day with something other than "Yay" but I'm not Orson F. Whitney, so I'll leave the poetry to him for now.)