Pioneers

My people were Mormon pioneers.
Is the blood still good? 
They stood in awe as truth 
Flew by like a dove 
And dropped a feather in the West.
Where truth flies you follow 
If you are a pioneer. 

I have searched the skies 
And now and then 
Another feather has fallen. 
I have packed the handcart again
Packed it with the precious things
And thrown away the rest. 

I will sing by the fires at night 
Out there on uncharted ground 
Where I am my own captain of tens
Where I blow the bugle 
Bring myself to morning prayer 
Map out the miles 
And never know when or where
Or if at all 
I will finally say, 
“This is the place,” 

I face the plains 
On a good day for walking. 
The sun rises 
And the mist clears. 
I will be all right: 
My people were Mormon Pioneers.