"THE OLD MORMON TRAIL" By ROYAL A. PALMER As 1947 Utah's Centennial year, draws to a close, it seems only fitting that one last tribute be paid to that noble group of immigrants who settled this territory terri-tory 100 years ago. This poem, written by Roy (Sagebrush) (Sage-brush) Palmer, who lived in Grantsville for many years, portrays the trek of our pioneers in early days. The bugle had sounded, the camp was awake The fires were gleaming, day started to break. "Round up the oxen." came the call loud and strong. "Put the yoke to the chain, we'll be jogging along. Then soon all was ready: The call came again. "Come gather round me ye women and men, The time has arrived," t'was the leader that spoke, For each to shoulder and carry his yoke, "Now kneel, ask God's blessing on this little band. To protect and guide us to the promised land. The goodbyes were spoken, each one took his place. "Stretch out," came the order, "and keep to the pace. The wagon train rolled, pointing into the west, Each one to his station and doing his best, And onward they moved, to'rds the westering sun: And day after day, when the long trek was done They gave thanks to God for they knew they'd not fail To establish forever the old Mormon Trail. Across trackless prairies they wended their way, Under clear azure skies and skies that were grey, Surrounded by redskins in feathers and paints, . . Round campfires bright, singing "Come, Come Ye Saints . But on, ever onward, o'er colees and flat, They rested awhile on the banks of the Platte Days pased into weeks, the Rockies were seen, And then they made camp on the shores of the Green. , Across rolling river, thru quicksands and hills, Over flowering valleys and crystalline rills, By the fort of Old Bridger, the wagon train rolled, As the sky in the west turned to crimson and gold. The mountains were crossed, how they all sang with glee, As tired eyes gazed on the blue shining sea. "It is ended," said Brigham, a smile on his face As he stretched forth his hand and said, "This is the Place. That was long years ago, time has taken its pay, And those who made history have all passed away. But behind them remains on Mother Earth's breast, A trail reaching out to east and the west. Now gone are the handcart, oxteam, yoke and chain, Gave place to railroad, the auto and plane. They travel the route that our Father's had made, But they've straightened the windings and cut down the grade. Deep in ,the hearts of these sons of the wes Is a feeling that tells them, The Old Trail is best. 'Twas longer and steeper and harder to climb But when on the summit, the view is sublime, The end is not yet, There are many years more On the road reaching out to Eternity's shore. So stretch out! Carry on! With no thought to fail And your journey will end on The Old Mormon Trail.