I will sing of the Mormons, the people of the Lord,
Since the time that Joseph prayed for light,
And the way they've been guided by Jesus' holy word,
And saved by the power of his might.
Chorus:
'Tis the song, the sigh of the Mormons,
Hard times, hard times long have pressed us sore;
Many days they have lingered around our cabin door,
But now we've brighter days in store.
Each time that the wicked have tried to overthrow
And to bring the work of God to naught,
The way has been opened for the saints to escape,
A ram in the thicket was caught.
The grasshoppers, crickets, and mobbers all combined
Were powerless to crush our noble cause;
The more we are hated, the more we are maligned,
The more the Church of Jesus grows.
With a merry little jig and a happy little song
Whoa Haw Buck and Jerry Boy
We trudge our way the whole day long
Whoa Haw Buck and Jerry Boy
Look at us now all covered with dust
It's better than staying home to rust
We'll make Salt Lake someday or bust
Whoa Haw Buck and Jerry Boy
There's a pretty little gal in the outfit ahead
Whoa Haw Buck and Jerry Boy
Wish she was by my side instead
Whoa Haw Buck and Jerry Boy
Look at her now with a pout on her lips
As daintily with her finger tips
She picks for the fire some buffalo chips
Whoa Haw Buck and Jerry Boy
Well we dance all night by the light of the moon
Whoa Haw Buck and Jerry Boy
To the fiddler's best and only tune
Whoa Haw Buck and Jerry Boy
Holding her hand and stealing a kiss
Never a step to the dance we miss
Never did I know a love like this
Whoa Haw Buck and Jerry Boy
Ye saints who dwell on Europe's shore
Prepare yourselves for many more,
To leave behind your native land,
For sure God's judgments are at hand.
For you must cross the raging main
Before the promised land you gain
And with the faithful make a start
To cross the plains with your handcart.
The lands that boast of modern light
We know are all as dark as night
Where poor men toil and want for bread,
Where peasant folks are blindly led.
These lands that boast of liberty
You ne'er again will wish to see
When you from Europe make a start
To cross the plains with your handcart.
As on the road the carts are pulled
'Twould very much surprise the world
To see the old and feeble dame
Thus lend a hand to pull the same.
And maidens fair will dance and sing,
Young men more happy than a king,
And children will laugh and play
Their strength increasing day by day.
And long before the Valley's gained,
We will be met upon the plain
With music sweet and friends so dear
And fresh supplies our hearts to cheer.
And then with music and with song
How cheerfully we'll march along
And thank the day we made a start
To cross the plains in our handcart.
When you get there among the rest,
Obedient be and you'll be blessed
And in God's chambers be shut in
While judgments cleanse the earth from sin,
For we do know it will be so,
God's servants spoke it long ago,
We say it is high time to start
To cross the plains with your handcart.
Chorus:
For some must push and some must pull
As we go marching up the hill;
So merrily on our way we go
Until we reach the Valley-o.
The winter of forty-nine* had passed,
The winter of haunting fears,
When famine had knocked at the city gates
And threatened the Pioneers.
But spring with its smiling skies lent grace
And cheer to the hosts within.
And they tilled their fields with a new-born trust
And the courage to fight and win.
With the thrill of life the tender shoots
Burst forth from the virgin plain;
And each day added its ray of hope,
The blessing of ripened grain.
But lo, in the east strange clouds appeared,
And dark became the sun,
And down from the mountainsides there swept
A scourge that the boldest shunned.
The crickets by tens of millions came,
Like fog on the British coast.
The finger of devastation marked
Its course on the Mormon host.
With a vigor that desperation fanned,
They battled and smote and flew.
But the clouds still gathered and broke afresh,
’Til the fields that waved were few.
With visions of famine and want and woe,
They prayed from a heart sincere,
And lo, from the west came other clouds
To succor the pioneers.
‘Twas seagulls feathered in angel white
For angels they were, forsooth!
The seagulls there by the thousands came
To battle in very truth.
They charged down upon the cricket hordes,
And gorging them day and night,
They routed the devastating foe,
And the crickets were put to flight.
All heads were bowed as they thanked their God,
And they reaped while the Devil raved.
The harvest was garnered to songs of praise,
And the Pioneers were saved.