“What Is Courage?” Friend, Dec. 1973, 16
What Is Courage?
December 23, 1805, the Prophet Joseph Smith was born in Sharon, Windsor County, Vermont. The following account tells of his great courage and love as a young boy.
Joseph Smith, age eight
Or nearly nine,
His peaked face white against
The pillow.
The typhus left him weak
And with an ulcer in his
Neck which caused a deep
And throbbing pain
Until the doctors lanced it,
Giving him some ease.
Then suddenly he called:
“Mother, there is a pain in my leg
So great I scarce can bear it.”
The leg was swelling badly.
Day after day his mother
Held him in her arms
Trying to comfort him.
For two long weeks his brother
Hyrum held his leg,
Elevated it,
Massaging and rubbing it—
All in vain—the pain became
Intense. The pain, the
Deep bone pain.
The surgeons, the best
That could be had in
That day, knew little
Of the causes of disease
Or of infection.
They didn’t sterilize their hands
Or the instruments
They used to cut.
Plenty of people died because
Of this ignorance, but some
Survived.
No one knows just why.
“It is our best judgment,
After consultation, that
We must amputate his leg
To save his life,” so said
The chief surgeon.
His mother pled,
“Is there not one more
Thing that you can do
To save his leg?”
“We have made
An incision eight inches
Long and
Exposed the bone.
The bone is bad.”
“Can you not cut away the bad
And leave the
Good to heal?”
“All we can do is try.
We can’t be sure.”
“Then try, for I cannot
Bear to have him lose
His leg.”
The boy sat up in bed,
The grave-faced surgeons,
His mother, his father,
Hyrum, all facing him:
“You are not going to cut off
My leg, are you?”
Gravely the surgeon spoke,
“We are going to try to save it,
But to operate we’ll have to
Tie you down. Bring cords!”
“I will not lie tied!
I will endure if Father
Will hold me in his arms
And Mother leaves the room.
She could not bear to see me suffer.
Doctor Stone, will it hurt
More than the cutting did?”
“Much more!
Will you drink this whiskey?
It will help deaden the pain.”
“No!”
“Then will you drink this wine?”
“No! I’ll endure the best I can
With Father’s help.”
The surgeon broke off
A piece of infected bone.
Joseph screamed with pain.
His mother, hearing,
rushed into the room.
“Go out, Mother! Please go!
I promise I’ll endure.”
She walked the back field,
Too far away to hear,
Until the work was finished.
Finally he lay exhausted,
His pinched white
Boyish face quiet on the pillow.
His father standing over him:
“Good boy! You were brave.
I am proud of you.”
He held his son firm,
His arms like iron bands
Encircling him and holding
Him like cords, yet giving him the
Courage to endure.
Encircling cords are bonds.
Encircling arms are love.
Illustrated by Ron Crosby