Of Deseret

I was born here in this wind-blown valley

With poplar trees above my head

I was born to snow and scorching sun

To fields and barns and wire fence

To the sound of larks and Sundays Hymn.

I was born here, in this wind-blown valley

Born to rise each morn

Arid see those purple peaks above my house

And feel their strength,

Born to hear the aspens song and poem of fir.

I was born here, in this wind-blown valley.

Sometimes I hear the shades of wheels,

Wagons rolling in the dust,

Down those purple slopes They rolled.

Coming here to plant the trees

I was born here, in this wind-blown valley

Born of folks with open hands

To bless the earth, and faces

Tanned and toughened, smiling,

Singing songs of pioneers.