Whether by teaching or by missionary work, proclaiming the gospel is a key part of LDS doctrine, practice and culture. And while this week’s Come Follow Me lesson leans toward missionary work, based on the historical events surrounding sections 71 to 75, the basic lessons found in these sections can apply to the many other ways that we communicate the gospel. Regardless of what sources we use to guide us (the lesson focuses on the spirit and on leaders), we end up communicating the parts of the gospel that we understand and have incorporated into our lives. So it’s wise to consider not only our sources, but how we approach gospel communication. And, our thoughts about this communication need to recognize the scriptural observation that we not only have many opportunities to share the gospel, but also should ‘labor with our might’ to proclaim it.

 

The Spirit will guide me as I proclaim the Savior’s gospel.

Few experiences match the missionary’s need to rely on the spirit for decisions. That experience often means travel to a distant land and living among an unfamiliar people who sometimes have different customs from what the missionary knows. That experience is a keystone of LDS experience and culture, even affecting those who didn’t serve as missionaries through second or third-hand accounts and actions—i.e., the stories that returned missionaries tell and the way they learned to act because of their missions.

The following poem was published in February 1844 by a departing missionary, likely Lorenzo Snow, who left Nauvoo in April to support Joseph Smith’s campaign for President of the United States. In the poem, the poet laments leaving Nauvoo, the place where he heard the words that fell from the prophet’s lips, and where the spirit taught him. Despite his longing to hear the Prophet Joseph’s words, Snow would only return to Nauvoo after the martyrdom.

 

Farewell to Nauvoo

by L. S. (likely Lorenzo Snow)

Fair city of the Saints! my heart to thee

Will often turn with sadness and regret,

When far away my dwelling place shall be,

For there are scenes I never can forget,

Connected with the memory of Nauvoo—

Scenes which my heart will often dwell upon.

And memory to her station ever true

Will bring them back to me when I am gone.

These scenes with mournful pleasure recollected

In memory’s glass will often be reflected.

 

Though the obliterating hand of time,

Has from the mind a thousand tilings effaced,

Yet principles eternal and sublime,

When once imprinted cannot be erased.

These principles have now become to me

Part of myself—a portion of my mind,

And I must lose my own identity

Before such principles can be resigned.

When once received, in spite of all resistance,

They form the essence of the soul’s existence.

 

Fair city of the Saints! I love thee well;

To me thy memory will be ever dear.

I would to God I could for ever dwell

Amidst the pleasant scenes where I could hear

The words of inspiration every day,

And hourly treasure up within my heart

Wisdom and knowledge that will not decay;

Light and intelligence that will impart

New glory to the beauties of creation,

Filling the mind with wondering admiration.

 

O! I have listened with suspended breath,

To hear the words of wisdom as they fell

From lips inspired, and felt that life nor death,

Nor all the powers combined of earth and hell

Could never force my heart to turn aside

From principles so holy and sublime.

Truth be my only creed, and God my guide,

And I shall safely pass tho storms of time,

And gain at last a high and holy station,

Among the ransom’d in the new creation.

 

Farewell, Nauvoo! I must again return

Back to ray Gentile bondage as before,

But oftentimes my heart will sadly yearn

To hold communion with the Saints once more.

How shall I long the prophet’s voice to hear—

The words of wisdom flowing from his tongue-

Truths most sublime are made so plain and clear

That oftentimes enchanted I hare hung

Upon his words, which forced the exclamation—

These surely are the words of inspiration?

1844

 

The Lord blesses me through the ministry of leaders like bishops.

The role of leaders, in and out of the church, is controversial today— rooted in the power conceded to leaders, which can be used for good or evil. On the good side, leaders have the ability to bless our lives, and when they leave us, or stop being leaders, the blessings appear in our feelings and what we say about them.

The following poem is a panagyric to a recently departed leader, likely Daniel H. Wells who passed away less than two months before this poem was published. The poet, Henry W. Naisbitt, was prolific, publishing his poetry throughout the 19th century. He also collected the poetry of Utah’s women poets, but his collection remains unpublished.

 

The Departed Leader

by Henry W. Naisbitt

Tread softly as befits this sacred hour,

Let busy thought with precious memories teem;

For one more triumph of that mighty power

Which breaks and shatters this “life’s fitful dream.”

Yet ‘t was no dream to him, the latest called,

For he had wrought amid its fiercest fires,

Where every fibre of his soul enthralled,

Was keyed to loftiest mood and grand desires!

He worked for God, for truth and humankind,

He gave his strength to this,—his life, his all;

So Israel in their deepest heart enshrined,

And crowned with love this consecrated soul!

In softest tones, in whispered words and low,

We greet his friends, our friends, this hallowed day;

Oh! bow the head, let tearful hearts o’erflow,

Though none wish his return, or urge his stay;

Full well is known as history’s pages tell,

How in the breach he dared to be a man;

As on the air the threatening murmurs swell,

Of sounds demoniac from a murderous clan.

Ah! who shall tell the truth? That tragic past,

For e’er remains writ on Columbia’s soil;

But few so brave, their protest then to cast

Against oppression in its mad turmoil.

From thence among the fugitives who fled,

Amid the silence of these mountain vales,

To dwell in peace, by heaven’s direction led,

To work and wait, till right o’er wrong prevails.

Nerved to the contest rugged nature meant,

“Yet courting conquest,” as the years flew past,

See concentrated toil and pure intent,

Hath found its triumphs in these vales at last!

Here countless homes, are labor’s grandest crown.

Here thousands dwell, here worship hath no fear;

And when each leader, tired doth lay him down,

God’s generations will their names revere!

No need to call the roll! The illustrious dead

Since Joseph fell in Carthage, one by one

By him invited, upward have been led

To move, in wider range, the work undone!

And now, as by the coffined dust we stand,

Though thoughts and tears commingled feeling show,

No sorrow stirs the heart, no trembling hand,

Would wish it other than we see and know.

E’en now there falls upon the spirit ear

The song of triumph, music’s ringing sound,

Such as he heard amid that loftier sphere,

Where our departed hath his welcome found!

The eye of faith beholds a mighty throng

Who forward press to greet the ransomed soul,

Some silent stand, and some with bursting song

Bid words of victory ‘mid the arches roll !

Some clasp the hand, and some with warm embrace—

With loving tones—the family gone before;

And all the Priesthood, braves with earnest face,

To see an old associate, loved of yore!

Homage from those who know, is highest praise,

These tasted suffering, trial had, and tears,

During those changes of the latter days,

Such as beset the best in lengthened years.

Reception there; Farewell we whisper here,

Our patriot-statesman cast in heaven’s mould;

A more than brother—friend, for ever dear,

Beyond compare with treasured hoards of gold!

Great! Yet he stooped to bless the humblest one,

And deemed him equal, if he needed aid;

A sympathetic soul, a hand which won

That heartfelt faith which never was betrayed.

Amid his family, like an uncrowned king,

Affection’s rule his sceptre and his throne;

Wives and posterity today can bring

That love most generous where he best was known.

                                  * * * * * *

Honored in time, thrice honored ‘mid the Gods,

Shall not our souls awake to music’s swell?

In rapt thanksgiving kiss a thousand rods,

And peaceful say: “The Father doeth well!”

1891

 

I have many opportunities to share the Savior’s gospel.

While recognizing when we have an opportunity to share the gospel is sometimes difficult, the idea that we should share it is widely understood — and only different from the many ideas that get shared among friends and on social media in the nature and importance of the message. If we are motivated to share the latest life hack on Tik Tok, surely the gospel should gives us more motivation.

Sharing the gospel often amounts to praise, and the Christian musical tradition, including the LDS tradition, are full of hymns of praise, to say nothing of the many other poems of praise to the Lord. The following hymn, by Eliza R. Snow, was written soon after the first LDS hymnal was published and is included in our current hymnal (#77).

 

Praise ye the Lord

by Eliza R. Snow

Great is the Lord: ’tis good to praise

His high and holy name:

Well may the saints in latter days

His wondrous love proclaim.

 

To praise him let us all engage,

That unto us is giv’n:

To live in this momentous age,

And share the light of heav’n.

 

We’ll praise him for our happy lot,

On this much favored land;

Where truth, and righteousness are taught,

By his divine command.

 

We’ll praise him for more glorious things,

That language can express,

The “everlasting gospel” brings,

The humble souls to bless.

 

The Comforter is sent again,

His pow’r the church attends;

And with the faithful will remain

Till Jesus Christ descends.

 

We’ll praise him for a prophet’s voice,

His people’s steps to guide:

In this, we do and will rejoice,

Tho’ all the world deride.

 

Praise him, the time, the chosen time,

To favor Zion’s come:

And all the saints, from ev’ry clime,

Will soon be gathered home,

 

The op’ning seals announce the day,

By prophets long declar’d;

When all, in one triumphant lay,

Will join to praise the Lord.

1835

 

“Labor with your might … proclaiming the truth.”

While the responsibilities of missionaries and members are different, at least in terms of expected effort, in other ways the responsibility is not really different. Does this extend to ‘laboring with your might’? The idea of our ‘might’ is a bit fuzzy anyway, and likely depends on what we are reasonably able to do; I don’t think we need to do more than we are able or have free time.

The inimitable Susa Young Gates weighs in on these responsibilities in the following poem. It is possible that this was addressed to her son Hal, who left on an LDS mission in 1911.

 

To a Missionary

by Susa Young Gates

Gird on your armor of the Christ, my lad,

And fasten it with three things—

The heart of the boy, the faith of a man,

And prayer on rising wings.

You’ll need the courage of a boy, my lad,

When the scornful world goes wrong.

For boys forget the foes they’ve met,

And they conquer life with a song.

The faith of a man is a beautiful thing,

It lightens the gloomiest way.

You must hold it tight, that its lovely light

Shall shine on your darkest day.

But courage and faith are only a part

Of the armor you must always wear—

For the rivets that hold, and the hinges that fold,

Are a constant, faithful prayer.

Thus armored and panoplied now, my lad,

You are almost ready to go.

Yet pause, I pray, and let me say

Some things you ought to know.

You are going to teach, not be taught,

In the things of God or of man.

Men’s ways go wrong, but God is strong,

And he’s laid a Gospel Plan.

That Plan will redeem the wide, wide world—

If you will but do your share.

With a boy’s brave soul, and your faith kept whole

On the rising wings of prayer.

So take with you now a dauntless heart,

And the faith to do and dare—

The hope of your friends, the grace God sends,

And your parents’ tender prayer.

1912