The Weber Literary Journal last scraper full of earth was dumped just as the watch struck the hour and the work was completed on time. The cheer which rose from the tired gang shook the hillside. Supper was served and the men rolled into their bunks too dead tired to remove their clothes. The next two days were given over to resting. On the morning of the 28th the new dam was to be tested. The valley folks arrived early, and after a talk by one or two who felt like thanking the men for the splendid work done, all was ready for the receiving of the waters. A time charge had been placed at the old dam far up the canyon, and as it was exploded a prayer went up from Steele's heart that his dam would hold. Pat refused to look at the on-rushing water. When it struck the wall not a tissue of the great masterpiece moved. It was then that a mighty cheer and a grateful prayer ascended to heaven. Steele looked first at the dam and the great body of water, then at the girl he loved. He led her to where their horses were standing, and slowly they left the crowd. Pat was given the honor of opening the flood gates that let the precious fluid into his great ditch, and as the water rushed forth into the long winding space his eyes filled with tears and he uttered, "God be praised, for my ditch holds!" The land that had so long thirsted for water would soon blossom as a flower garden. For by the help of God and by His bounteous hand was the desert to blossom. A soothing breeze stole over the sage, a chickadee chirped dreamily from the mesquite bush as a rattler coiled sleepily to the butt of a gray sage. Slowly the sun dipped behind the mountains as a young couple rode silently thru the sage. They stopped where they had met two years before, and as the Desert land was soon to blossom, so had blossomed the desert of love. 20 The Weber Literary Journal A Western Rain Leslie Christenson In ominous gloom the scolding clouds in masses Draw in and now forbid us of our light; The towering heights and wondrous mountain passes We see no more than were it sable night. The little bird, arriving to seek a covert Skims as the waves of the surging, dipping sea, And high the nightbird hovers with its omen,-(Before a rain since old antiquity!) In wild retreat the noisy leaflets scurry, Appalled by the wind that, high aloft, Holds the great trees in servile assentation, And wails a chant now furious, now soft. Now sweeps the rain from out the sombre gloom In leaden drops with fury hurled and tossed, Adds to the dapple coat it brings to earth Until the grayness of the earth is lost. O rain, 'tis oft thy mercy sore is needed By tillers of the soil who toil and fret, God's mercy lies beyond, but is not heeded; The world's subsistence owes to God its debt. 21