 1890 - 1978 (87 years) Submit Photo / Document
Has 2 ancestors but no descendants in this family tree.
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| Name |
Harry Waldemar Madsen |
| Birth |
4 Apr 1890 |
Salem, Madison, Idaho, United States  |
| Gender |
Male |
| Initiatory (LDS) |
29 Apr 1914 |
SLAKE |
| FamilySearch ID |
KWC4-LYV |
| Death |
13 Jan 1978 |
Salt Lake, Utah, United States |
| Burial |
Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah, United States |
| Person ID |
I119088 |
mytree |
| Last Modified |
25 Feb 2024 |
| Father |
Hans Madsen, b. 18 Jun 1826, Ørsbjerg, Kerte, Odense, Kongeriget Danmark d. 16 Jul 1903, Lehi, Utah, Utah, United States (Age 77 years) |
| Mother |
Marie Johanne Sørensen, b. 19 Sep 1857, Gram, Rårup, Vejle, Kongeriget Danmark d. 28 Nov 1929, Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah, United States (Age 72 years) |
| Marriage |
10 Dec 1886 |
Salt Lake City, Salt Lake, Utah, United States |
| Family ID |
F8289 |
Group Sheet | Family Chart |
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| Notes |
- July, 15, 1965; 945 Princeton Way, Salt Lake City, Utah
[Typed from the original manuscript by Viola Lauper Johnson; additiona l e dits by David Peterson.]
In the due course of things I was born. This happened at the beginnin g o f my earthly existence -- April 4, 1890. Frequently, I have been call e d a fool, and [I] escaped earning the title by a close margin of four d ay s. On the other hand, a two day postponement would have brought me an d th e Church out on the same day. Considering the lack of doctor and mid wif e at my arrival, it is remarkable I was born at all; so accept the ev en t as philosophically as may be.
The hardships of my parents in that frontier settlement of Salem, Idah o , makes me wonder as to what they hoped to offer their four boys and o n e girl, in bringing then into this life. They showed a lot more courag e a nd faith than their posterity have evidenced.
Our little log house of two rooms, chinked with mud, served as the fami l y home for a few years. As I visited the site last summer, I visioned t h e little building, placed a few yards from timber, and the yard banke d wi th dirt to keep back the "high water" of thaw season. A trail led fi fty o r more yards through the brush to the river, from which was dippe d our wa ter for drinking, washing, and all culinary purposes. When the s ilt was t oo much in evidence, the water was left in two wooden buckets , candy buck ets, to settle; or if we were too thirsty, we just straine d it through ou r teeth.
During the spring thaw, all the lowland about our house, and even the ce l lar built independent of the house was deep under water. The crude roa d l eading to the nearest neighbor, nearly a mile away, was rendered impa ssab le, save for horseback. I was born during one of the high-water peri ods.
At night, my older brother and I could lie on our straw tick and wonde r a t the weird yapping of coyotes. The few chickens we tried to raise we r e a constant invitation for the hungry bobcat, or a lynx, to raid our c oo p and make off with a struggling hen The dank odors of the woods was f req uently added to, in no uncertain way, by the many polecats who seeme d t o assume as their special calling, a close surveillance of our scan t doo r yard. Poor Rover, our dog, was in constant trouble with the varie d deni zens of our timber land. Skunks cologned him until he was fit to d ie wit h the shame of it all, and then a series of porcupines came out t o inspec t the new settlers. Rover inspected them, and father had a rea l job holdi ng him down while mother, with the aid of a nipper, pulled ou t the quill s from his inquisitive nose and bleeding mouth.
The stagnant water, or sloughs, as we called them, served as the best br e eding ground for mosquitoes and fish you could imagine. The minnows, i n t housands, fed on the larvae of the mosquito; but despite this, ther e wer e millions leaving the water, full-grown, to drone their vicious tu ne, an d prey on man and beast 'til both were well nigh eaten alive. We c ould no t open our mouths to breathe without sucking the insects into ou r throats . Mosquito bar was of little avail. The horses would run from o ne end o f the field to the other in an effort to rid themselves of the p ests. The ir poor backs were a series of welts.
A mile and one-half to the south of our farm was a tract of land spoke n o f as the "town site." Here, a few of the farmers were striving to se t u p a school house and a church. Father was counseled to move his hous e t o this section so that his little family might have a chance to ge t a bi t of schooling and to attend church. Also, the rigors of the winte rs migh t be mitigated by closer community structures. Good people helpe d fathe r dismantle our house and transfer it to the plot. We even go t a shingl e roof and a shanty set against the sunny side of our humble a bode. Fathe r worked, oh so patiently, with a whitewash brush to smooth o ut some of t he rough places of the logs and render white the mud chucke d in between t he logs. He gave some men a bedstead in exchange to lath e and plaster th e ceiling of the two small rooms. Loads of dirt were pil ed around the bas e of the house to prevent the wind from blowing in an d up through the cru de flooring. Burlap sacks, when they could be spared , were tacked to th e floor in lieu of carpets. All told, we were quite c omfortable. The mosq uitoes ate us in the summer, and the bed bugs, whic h just thrived in th e old wooden bedsteads and straw ticks, ate us summe r and winter.
As my sister and younger brother were added to the family circle, Frankl i n and I were relegated to the loft to sleep. The loft is akin to attic s , as we now know them, only, small as we were, we could not stand uprig h t under the low roof, except a few feet each way from center. A hole o r o pening was cut from the outside, and by the aid of a ladder, later re plac ed by a stairway, up we went to get such shelter as we might from th e fri gid winters. A scant bedding was all the family had, so to keep war m, w e slept with all our clothes on and hugged each other for mutual war mth . During a blizzard, the snow sifted in on us. I have always said I f roz e so much during those awful days, my hands and feet are still cold i n co nsequence.
Shortly after getting into our re-built house, father got some help an d d ug a well. I remember this distinctly, for I had the measles at the t ime , and a man by name of Coombs, whose heart was as big as his stomac h – th e size of which I marveled at – visited us, and after looking me o ver, or dered that I stay in bed under the covers til the heat drove ou t the rash . It spoiled the day for me, and I shed tears of disappointmen t, but al l to no avail. Finally, I fell asleep, and to the best of my kn owledge, d id recover from the disease.
Speaking of the well, it was never satisfactory -- not being deep enoug h , the water was 'rivery' in taste during the thaw season, and frequentl y , [it] froze over so hard in the winter as to be nigh impossible to bre a k the ice to get water at all. For days, the animals of our yard had t o e at snow for water, and the family [had to] melt tubs of snow for hous ehol d purposes.
When we were barely old enough to lift an axe, Franklin and I must sti l l get out and do our best to replenish the wood box. Coal was unknow n i n that Idaho town, and to keep any kind of even temperature with woo d wa s just impossible. The winter nights twenty and thirty degrees belo w zero , froze the milk and water in the house. The vegetables in the cel lar, de spite every effort with straw and hay covering to prevent it, wer e ruined . The only ice cream we tasted was this frozen milk. The cream h ad to b e carefully saved to be churned into butter, to be taken to the l ittle st ore, for a little sugar or a few dried apples, rice, etc. Good , rendere d lard was spread on our bread, with just a pinch of sugar, i f mother cou ld spare it, from our frugal store, to make the bread a litt le more palat able with lard.
Father would take sacks of grain to a neighbor of ours, two miles away , t o have it ground into meal. It came out looking like the 'cracked whe at ' of the grocery store. The best of it we ate as mush and the rest o f i t was for the pigs. What an event when a pig was to be killed! We mis se d none of the details. My uncle, Jim Olsen [the husband of his mother' s s ister, Minnie], used to come over from across the river to help wit h th e kill. How the pig objected to the knife inserted into his throat , and h ow astonished he looked as the snow crimsoned with his blood; an d wha t a screaming when the blood was about all out. It didn't last long , fo r the pig died. Then he was soused into a barrel of scalding water s o th e men could scrape all the hair off. This done, the brute was hung u p i n the shed and then, wonder of it all, a few deft cuts and the pig wa s di semboweled. What a study in anatomy for us children. We never have f orgot ten those lessons. A few hours of freezing and our winter meat wa s brough t into the house. Lacking proper refrigeration, the fat was rend ered ou t and poured into buckets. From the refuse, soap was made and th e hams we re preserved as best we could out in the cold winter of the gra nery. I f a few mice sampled these hams or, in the spring, the flies di d a maggot y job, well, we just couldn't afford to be too particular, cut ting away t he affected parts and giving thanks for what was left.
About this time, I was led over the to the river, which, in April was ru n ning full and over from the thaw, and taken in hand by a kind neighbo r t o be baptized into the Church. Franklin became a member two days befo re m e. Father never learned to speak English very well, so mother was th e spo kesman and business manager of the family; and be assured, she di d a wond erful job. So pathetically little to work with, yet she, in som e magic wa y, kept us clothed and fed.
Always ambitious for our advancement, mother taught us "pieces" to sa y i n church socials and school programs. I don't recall how I learned t o spe ak English for, at home, Danish was all we heard.
My first day at school was not so propitious. Franklin took me, but at r e cess, not being able to make much of what the boys were saying, I concl ud ed, in my small head, that they were making fun of me. I blurted out , i n good Danish " Dien Task" [meaning? "din" means "your" and "taske" m ean s "bag"...] and legged it off for home with my brother in full, but u sele ss, pursuit. Later I was confronted with a book and asked to read . I hel d it open, as that seemed the proper way to do, and waited for so methin g to happen. A long pause, then "John", said the teacher. "John" , I repea ted, and waited some more. All the other pupils in the room als o waited . "I am afraid," said the woman in charge, "that this is a littl e too har d for you." Another page was assigned to me for study, to be re ported th e next day. Mother saw me through that lesson. If I knew one le tter fro m another, I don't remember, but to this day, I can quote that p age of re ading, and here it is:
This is Anna and her dog, Sport.
Can Sport run?
Yes, Sport can run.
Run, Sport, run.
Book, or no book, I could read that like a top!
Franklin and I were in a dialogue for the school, a year or two late r . I had some lines which went like this:
You'd scarce expect one of my age
To speak in public on the stage.
But if I fail to show Demosthenes,
Or Cicero... (etc. etc. etc.)
Mother couldn't pronounce these two celebrities' names, so asked Mr. Cla y , the teacher in a note to kindly help me with those two words. After s ch ool, for several days, I got a going over with these two ancient orato rs , 'til I felt they were my very best friends,. Well, the dialogue wen t of f as per schedule, and everything was lovely 'til in the heat of th e thin g, I got mixed up and tore right into Franklin's lines, instead o f my own . They had a job getting me stopped, and with the result, I wel l nigh wre cked the show and embarrassed Mother to death.
A great event of the dead of winter of this year was a school picture, w h ich is still in our possession. My teeth chatter as I think of this pic tu re. I was so drawn in with cold that the miracle is the camera caugh t m e at all. The little school was heated by a 'frost killer' stove, fe d wit h large chunks of wood. During recess the teacher and larger pupil s surro unded the stove; and we smaller ones could freeze any way we want ed, on t he outer fringe. One day I made the inner circle, only to have t he back o f my hand shoved against the stove -- a large burn was the resu lt. Everyb ody laughed, but I, not wanting to cry in public, went outsid e and got o n the ice pond. A few seconds later, both my feet moved ahea d without me , and a head hit the ice. I soon realized the head was mine.
Farming, for my father, was a hard experience. Not at all robust, and pa s t sixty, it was a job I marvel he could do at all. He did his best. Wi t h the crudest tools he toiled early and late to provide for his littl e fa mily. Mother did far more than her share of the work, even when carr yin g me, must help pitch hay. Her health gave out with it all, but she n eve r complained. As Franklin was older than I, he was pressed into the s ervi ce first. A load of hay tipped over and he was buried in it, but du g hims elf out while Father was frantically searching for him at the othe r end.
To get a load of grain or hay hauled home from the farm without mishap w a s a real accomplishment. Once, the rim on a hind wheel came off. Luckil y , we got stopped before the wheel collapsed. Getting stuck in the mudd y p asture was a frequent. tragedy. Our best cow bloated and died; one ho rs e took sick and had to be killed.
One fall season, after the threshing and harvest was over, and a littl e s chooling was again possible, the two little ones of the family concei ve d the notion of a bonfire as they had seen someone have on a recent vi sit . They chose the straw stack for their bonfire. Nothing much could b e don e! People came from miles away to help, but with no water, little c ould b e saved. By a miracle, the house was not ignited. How I remember m y age d father going up the outside stairs into the loft, time and again , and o n bended knees, pleading with the Lord to spare the home. His pra yers wer e heard. In those days, even us children learned to pray and wit h a purpo se. How helpless we were without the comfort of Heaven. In meet ings, late r on, the Bishop called on the farmers to donate hay and stra w to feed ou r few cows, pigs, and horses.
Poor father had to go out in the dead of a severe winter, break trai l t o people's homes, and do the best he could to haul home the feed the y wer e kind enough to give, but not to help deliver. He would come hom e chille d to the bone, his beard was one mass of ice. Later, as the weat her permi tted, all the kind people got together, came to our farm, cut d own tree s from the woods, and held a "log-raising" for our benefit A sta ble, shed , and coops were set up, but much chinking and plastering woul d be neede d to make them warm. This could no be done 'til summer so th e animals ha d to freeze in the best way they knew. Willows were laid eve ry which wa y to serve as a covering, but did little to keep out the snow . When we th reshed again, the straw was stacked feet deep over these bui ldings, rende ring them quite comfortable again.
The following year, Julius, the last of the family was born. It was agre e d he would not be born alive. Mother had been anything but well, an d a do ctor's help cost money. The nearest one was four miles of bad roa d away . But Julius was blessed to live, and is going strong to this day . Frankl in was eleven, and I was nine; Minnie was a year younger, and Ax el nearl y two years younger than I when the baby was born. Father had t o act as n urse, for Mother was confined to bed. A long time after, she s till must s tay in bed, finally getting about. She still had to go to be d each month , or bleed to death.
Somehow, that spring, my older brother and I would get up, harness the h o rses and drive to the farm. With me as driver, Franklin would hold th e pl ow, and we ploughed acre after acre of land in preparation for the c rops . The grain that year froze before it ripened, so our crop was goo d for p ig feed only. It took three bushels to buy the same flour that on e bushe l of good wheat would produce. As Mother got better, Father turne d to th e farm and I stayed home to care for the baby and help mother a s best I c ould; washing diapers and baby things, and then trying to iro n them was m y job. Sometimes Mother, in bed, would do her best to wash b y hand some o f the daintier things while I held the pan of water for her .
The training of hard necessity we children got, when far too young t o b e exposed to such severe tasks, was not without its recompense. We ha d n o money to spend; everything had to be saved or used sparingly. Wan t wa s always close to us, yet in it all, we did our best without complai nt an d learned to be truly thankful for the great blessings we enjoyed . Wha t a treat to have a pan of clabber. Maybe, after fast day, as a spe cial b oon, the cream would be left on, and crumbs and a little sugar spr inkle d --made it just divine. Mashed potatoes and meat from the pig wa s very w elcome. Fruit was almost unknown, but in lieu thereof, we boys a te many r aw potatoes and carrots. In the summer, green peas and carrots , wild goos eberries, and currants delighted our ever-hungry bodies.
Old Patriarch Lillienquist [sic] came to Idaho one winter, and for a lo a d of hay, gave us all Patriarchal Blessings. How we doted on these! An d m other, with tears in her eyes, would vision when her children would d o gr eat things in the Church. Nothing else mattered, so we lived the Gos pel a nd did our part in serving the Lord.
Through all our poverty, father paid his tithes, and never was the tithi n g hay or grain anything but the best. We have adhered to the law of tit hi ng all our lives, and I want my children to always feel an honor-boun d fe eling to render to the Lord the tenth of their earnings as being His . No t that the Lord needs it, but we need the lesson of giving it, and a s w e give freely, so will our interest in the Church be great, and our p urpo ses good.
The Fall after Julius' birth, Father got the aid of P. W. Madsen, his el d est son, our half-brother, in supplying us a farm in Lehi, Utah. We so l d the Idaho farm, house, and everything for the best price possible, wh ic h was very little indeed. Uncle Jim Olsen took us to Rexburg, where th e r ailroad was extended. In glorious expectancy, we were headed for som e fai r El Dorado! When we arrived in Salt Lake and met P,W,, he told fat her th e place in Lehi had been sold, but he kindly arranged for anothe r place t here.
The strain and worry of all the years told on Father, and the next yea r a fter reaching Lehi, he was rendered helpless with paralysis. For thre e ye ars, he was thus afflicted, at times being utterly helpless and eve n deli rious, Mother was reduced to a skeleton in trying to care for fath er. Dea th came as a reward to Father, when I was twelve years of age. Th e wealth y son from Salt Lake [P.W.] very kindly came and saw to the fune ral. Th e burial [was] in Salt Lake. During Father's life, we had lived r ent-free , but soon thereafter, we received notice of a nominal rent char ge to b e paid each month. We had no income, save [what] the little we bo ys migh t earn at odd jobs, and the money brought from Idaho had all bee n used i n living and caring for the home needs.
Axel was not old enough to do more than a part of the chores. We three w o rked for the farmers, the Utah-Idaho Sugar Company, and anybody wher e w e could earn a few cents, doing any honest task. We had learned to wo rk a nd took our responsibility seriously. Somehow, with Mother's wonderf ul ma nagement, we got along. Always, 'til we married, did mother receiv e all o ur earnings, and right well she handled the affairs.
When we couldn't find work, we went to school. The only full school ye a r I ever attended was the year I graduated from the eighth grade, and t he n, I was out two weeks to help harvest beets. At that time, I still gr adu ated with highest percentage in the class, which was terrible for a p oo r widow's son. I always liked to read, though as children, we had acce s s to so few books. One day, my school teacher came to see me. I had nar ro wly escaped being killed from the kick of a horse to my jaw. Six stitc he s were needed to close the gash. This teacher, seeing me with a histor y b ook, suggested I try to read literature and fiction as well, and brou gh t me the book, "The Heart of a Boy", as the first book I every read th rou gh. How many hundreds since! This reading was my education, and in th e be et field, instead of listening to, or participating in dirty stories , I c onceived the notion of telling, to a boy on each side of me, the st orie s I had read. We hoed as I talked, and as the adventure unfolded, w e work ed harder in the tenseness of the situations, and so were more val uable t o our employer.
The tragedies of my childhood had a tendency to depress me and led m e t o worry a lot over things that might never happen. Coming to Lehi, w e wer e constantly picked on as those "Danish kids". We did entertain o n schoo l programs with Danish numbers and recitations, only to be made f un of b y thoughtless children. All this helped to make a terrible introv ert of m e. Painfully bashful in a mixed group or in informal gatherings , I cultiv ated no friends, but found pleasure in solitude. Axel, my youn ger brother , and I worked much together and sought no other company. I m emorized eas ily when small and had no difficulty in speaking a piece i n Sunday School , but to entertain a boy or girl, I was lost. I remembe r when we first ca me to Lehi, father took us by the hand to church. On e Sunday morning, Bro ther Southwick had struggled hard to draw from th e school the names of th e current twelve apostles. Then he asked if anyo ne could give them all. A s no one offered to do this job, I rattled the m off as fast as I could sp eak. Thus, from a ten-year-old, the house wa s brought down. The Article s of Faith, Ten Commandments, Beatitudes, an d Testimony of the Three Witn esses would have been equally easy, as the y later found out.
We were too poor to go to dances or parties, anyway, so could only loo k o n from the side lines and wonder. Naturally, I would read and study b ecau se that did not cost money, and I have learned this great truth: th e thin gs most valuable and worthwhile in life can be had for the least c ost.
My school teachers ware always kind and helpful. If I got in two or thr e e months in the ninth grade, a little more in the second year, and a li tt le less the third year, with the average for the fourth year. I was st il l able to get full credit for four years complete high school work i n al l the subjects taken. This included everything but algebra and geome try . I am no good at all in solving problems of arithmetic, so I could n ot m ake up back work in those subjects. However, at the end of the fourt h yea r, I was 18 years old. I took Mr. Hopkin's advice that I go to Sal t Lake , take the School Teacher's Examination, and get a school to teach .
Psychology was one of the subjects to be examined on. I had read only o n e book on this subject, but so well that I was able to get 75% on thi s su bject, and yet I had never had it as a course in school. Drawing an d natu re study -- things I had next to nothing on – I did not so well in , but a ll the other subjects were from 85% to 98%. I went at those exami nation s prayerfully. Orthography was one subject that I had never studie d as su ch, though in spelling I had just won a selection of 25 volumes o f book s as the best speller in our high school. That was the same year A xel cam e to Salt Lake, as Lehi's representative in public speaking. Wit h no coac hing at all, [he] won the State High School Oratory Gold Medal . Oh, we di d count for a little, but not in the social set, in those pov erty days.
Mr. G. N. Child, then County School Superintendent of Utah County, wh e n I told him I wanted a school for passing the examinations, said, "Yo u c an't pass, but if you do, I'll see about a school." So, it was my coa chin g experience to be assigned to an ungraded school in the mining tow n of M anning. That school, so like the one of my own during my childhood , serve d me in good stead in that I had to meet and handle new situation s alon e – no one to advise me. What a rough place for a green boy, not y et nine teen! One of the Trustees got stabbed for stealing chickens; anot her, a s janitor, stole the school's coal; and the third divorced his wif e and l eft town. The children were rough and uncouth in their way, jus t as thei r teacher was dumb and uncouth in his way. Somehow, I got throu gh that ye ar and it goes down in history as my first and last school. I t is with re gret that I have to write this "my last school". I feel tha t teaching sho uld have been my vocation. If only financial conditions ha d been such tha t I could have gone on, what might have been...
We sold our home in Lehi, or rather the equity we had in it. This hom e w e were buying, we decided upon it after paying rent for a time on th e fir st house we lived in. Our next move was to Salt Lake City where w e hope d for better opportunities Franklin got a job in a grocery store , and whe n I came home from teaching, I got a job there, too, and staye d at it unt il the year I got married. It was then I got into the Wester n Leather Com pany, and I have been there ever since.
Franklin was sent on a mission to Norway, and while he was away, I was t a ken out from teaching Sunday School and, at age 23 years, made second c ou nselor to Bishop Goddard. This was, indeed, a great training for me . I ha d to learn to mix with people, to counsel with them, and help solv e thei r problems. For twelve years, I served in this capacity, winning t he lov e and respect of the ward people. Our bishop was called to a stak e job an d [he] took me along as a member of his board. Later I becam e a counselo r to the Stake Sunday School Superintendent, and, in time, r esigned to te ach a group of boys in the Le Grand Ward. I have worked a t this and kindr ed tasks up to now.
There are many things I could chronicle as good, and not so good, in m y l ife; but I do not want this to become tedious. However, one very impo rtan t matter should be here noted: I got married! I think for any man t o ge t married comes as a real surprise to him. That any woman should car e eno ugh for a man to risk her life's future in his hands, well, it i s a compl iment greater than any male child deserves. And leaves him a bi t muddle d for the rest of his days (also spelled daze).
As this is written primarily for my children, four of whom have come t o b less our union, I am not going to weary them with a recital of the ad vent ure of marriage. They know, without my saying, that their mother i s the f inest of women. Evil has no place whatsoever in her heart. Her gr eat plea sure in life is to be helpful to everyone. She dislikes strife a nd turmoi l, as they have nothing in common with the peace of her inner s elf. Tha t people should be hateful to each other, or spiteful, my wife j ust doesn 't understand. That tears should be shed, her sympathetic natur e fully re alizes. A kind heart is never void of that understanding whic h mingles te ars with the sorrowing ones. Wherever people love a lot, the y just natura lly suffer a lot. Deep love is easily wounded, and husband s and childre n add about as much to the wounding as to the joy of the pu re heart of mo ther and wife. How the Lord must suffer for His thoughtles s children!
We sent on our last-born to be our mediator in Heaven. She was such a ch o ice spirit and needed but seven light years to do her mission, which i s t aking the rest of us a lot longer. Her absence will always stand ou t a s a sacred, hallowed ordeal to our family group. We look at her littl e gr ave – the inscription "Lucy Jean Madsen" on it -- and pray for the p eac e she enjoys to be a benediction to our lives, always.
No home life is every just what its members would desire. Individual dif f erences cannot be ignored for the reason they just won't be. Life cann o t be ordered to fit an individual taste, nor is that taste stable enou g h to be worthy of the thought. Our business is to order our lives to b e i n keeping with conditions as we meet them. If we can do this gracious ly , we want not for charm and personality with its attending friends, wh o c ome to do homage to the beautiful.
My conclusion, to my children, is to "Keep the Faith". Our Church is a p r ogram of exaltation, based on the hardest kind of work and striving. Th er e could be no exaltation without them.
Your grandparents went through trials such as few people face, but nev e r a word of reviling the Lord, always a prayer of thanks. As the secon d b orn of their family, I am ever grateful for the religious backgroun d the y afforded me We had little of a house, but a lot of HOME. Heartach es, di sappointments, want, and yet a strong faith in God's mercies. Moth er live d to see her children grow to maturity and all married, with gran dchildre n to carry her name. The humblest of the humble, yet, in her pas sing, th e President of our Church spoke to her funeral and, in tears, ac knowledge d her and the fact that her blood and his blood flowed in the v eins of th ree of his grandchildren, as were her grandchildren. [Axel mar ried Presid ent Grant's daughter Emily.]
Mother was never crushed in spirit, nor would she permit her childre n t o call a halt in the face of trouble. I pass on to you this heritage . Kee p on the Lord's side in a big way! Don't take the small way nor b e chea p in righteousness. Pay your tithing as a privilege – a debt of gr atitude . Keep the Word of Wisdom as to tea, coffee, tobacco, etc., in th e feelin g that what the Lord advises is good enough for you, though al l hell advi se to the contrary. The Sabbath Day is for worship, not for p lay. The Lor d doesn't need our worship, but we, being ladies and gentlem en, are not s o small as to want to ignore his blessings and add insult b y thoughtles s conduct on His great day. To be rich, serve the Lord and s eek to be act ively engaged in His service all your days.
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Has 2 ancestors but no descendants in this family tree.
English
