AMELIA EVANS -
HANDCART PIONEER OF 1856
She smiled through
tears. It was so hard to school
Her feelings as
the Thornton sailed away.
It was
eighteen-fifty-six in early May
She said good-bye
to friends and Liverpool.
In all her
eighteen years she had not known
Such mingled joy
and sadness in a day;
She choked on
tears; next moment she was gay
And proud to go to
Zion all alone.
She winced to
think she might no more return
To England's
cities, wooded trails and rills,
And Wales - gay
little land behind the hills
Where she was
born, for these she knew she'd yearn.
And Mountains of
her Flint, in northern Wales,
Enchanted
mountains, running into sea;
And castles of
great age - Her pedigree
Made her a part -
Yet, now she sails.
Away from kin,
emotion fathoms deep -
Why, baby sister
Rhoda might grow tall
Before enough is
earned to transport all
The nine she
loves. She must not weep!
God will sustain
them all. Her new faith stirred!
She tossed her
chestnut tresses, blinked a tear -
The call that
moved her forth now banished fear
With joy, for Zion's
trumpet had been heard!
Amelia Davis
Everett, Granddaughter
