“Moroni,” Ensign, June 1987, 27
Moroni
The stone now rests in place,
its edges carefully concealed in turf
as if unturned since Ramah times
when first this hill heard battle cries,
first felt the heavy marching feet
of armed and angry men
who fought like giants
one week’s war—
till only one survived,
his headless foe beneath his fainting feet.
Why must men hurtle here in hate,
eager to find a foretold fate
on Cumorah?
The records in place,
hidden in the cave below
and in them all our work—
our lives.
From towered Babel,
walled Jerusalem,
we came
led by that same hand
through desert sand
and over seas
until fulfilling forecast destinies
we found Cumorah.
“Moroni Burying the Gold Plates,” by Clark Kelley Price