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Joseph Smith
Restoration

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Lyrics: 1-9. Scene <br/> ANDERSON <br/>They give us the staff, <br/>The mantle, the discontent. <br/>Full of silence, the grass of the land <br/>Hearkens, bends, and dies. <br/>Ice comes in November; winter shall save us, <br/>And we shall move as one, breaking the cold will <br/>That keeps us less than we are. <br/>FORBES <br/>I see clouds over the land, like <br/>Cotton, blown: the wheelwright walks among them <br/>With the mantle of Joseph. Take it and keep it, John. <br/>ANDERSON <br/>If I could hold it, I would think him near. <br/> (He takes the mantle.) <br/>I take his night, his covering... <br/>CLAYTON <br/>O light of morning, light of <br/>Spring, shining sun-stream in the glade, <br/>Vision of my prayer... <br/>ANDERSON <br/>City of darkness,murmuring streets: <br/>Houses hunch behind sagging gates; <br/>Orchards shudder in the squalor of death. <br/>Where shall he be taken? Not even among his people <br/>Shall his grave be known; wolves follow the scent <br/>And circle h1m. They wink in the darkness. <br/>If not in his life, in what can one believe? <br/>The word and prophecy embody themselves, <br/>And when they fail, I honor a wraith. <br/>The wraiths of history evaporate in the real glare <br/>That he withstood, until now. <br/> CLAYTON <br/>'Now the sceptre of evening, the evening star, <br/>The alcove where the voices gather, questioning; <br/>The hush of evening, as if were held the rose <br/>Of the shadow, blooming and breathing among them <br/>The infinite: Follow Me. <br/> ANDERSON <br/>God kept me in my time, and I possess only <br/>The mantle of Joseph. I shall carry <br/>Joseph's mantle in the womb of night. <br/>FORBES <br/>Let us carry him home to Nauvoo. <br/>CLAYTON <br/>The maelstrom breathes <br/>The night wind: <br/>In the vortex and vales of the land <br/>The death's head glimmers, <br/>Careening, suspended, wildly searching. <br/> ANDERSON <br/>Spirit in us that is all <br/>We should have been <br/>And yet is the aspect of our redeemer, <br/>Rise magnificent in the martial gold. <br/> CLAYTON <br/>His hair is the fusion of paths of flame: <br/>His eyes flicker and play <br/>And stay the death's head from the province of man. <br/>ANDERSON <br/>I speak to the dead, in the groves of night; <br/>I speak in the dusk of marble and pine where they lie. <br/>Their quiet piety listens, <br/>Their patience always in them living silently there. <br/>They rest in chapels, in wood and stone, <br/>In the groves of night. <br/>Joseph, they call in the night and in their voiceless being <br/>Gather the living down for their love of the earth. <br/>
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