It’s hard to imagine five thousand Saints in this place Where wind whips sloping hills and fallow fields. All that’s left are four temple cornerstones embedded In the middle of nowhere, like the opposite of tombs. Could this really have been Church headquarters For two years, like a missionary come and gone? If I said desolate, you wouldn’t think of the spot Where tithing was revealed or where Sidney Rigdon Delivered his famous Fourth of July oration.