I cannot express in words, my brethren, the honor that is paid me by President McKay in asking me to address you this evening. I feel very much indebted to him. I was eight years of age when he entered the Quorum of the Twelve, and I have grown up through most of my life always remembering him as an Apostle of the Lord.

It was he who called me on the phone one day in April of 1945 and invited me to come to the Conference and take my place in the First Council of the Seventy. There have been times when I have needed to be rebuked, as I guess all men do. I shall never protest as long as those I receive in the future are as gentle as those President McKay has given me, for he always leaves me built up and strengthened when he calls attention to the errors which have been made.

President McKay, I should like you to know that my own personal feeling toward you is one of deep devotion, and toward your family likewise. I think I have no greater love for any man than I do for your brother, Thomas, who has been to me always a friend, often in time of need.

I should like to indulge myself for a moment, and ask you to indulge me, in an imaginary thing. I should like to have you imagine with me that we have gone back 136 years. I imagine myself to be a member of a family, newly moved into New York State, by the name of Smith.

We were having a hard time. Father had contracted for some land. It was heavily forested. It is no easy thing to cut down hardwood trees of diameter from three to four feet, and yet that was our lot if we expected to clear the land and make a farm out of it. We progressed slowly by hard work.

On one particular clear sunshiny day in early spring, when the buds were starting to come out a little, a rare thing in New York state in that season of the year, I had been sent to clear in the lower bottom land, and having spent the whole day there, did not have much connection with the family. I came home that evening in time for supper and gathered with the family around the table. Our usual custom was to have a verse of Scripture and a prayer over the food, and then to indulge ourselves in conversation concerning religion. We had good cause, because at that moment there were in the town four ministers representing four churches, all of them pleading with us to be saved and to accept Christ.

My mother and my brother, Hyrum, had felt they would like to espouse the cause of the Presbyterian Church, and so indicated. Myself, I favored the Methodist Church. I thought that was nearer to what I considered Christ to be. But we were a loyal family and we did not ever quarrel over these things. It was all happy conversation, reason was given, Scripture was quoted, and we had a good laugh whenever we came to a difference we could not resolve.

After the supper was cleared away, my father said to us children, "Gather around the fire. We have something important to have you hear." And so we gathered, and after we were seated in the various chairs and on the floor, my mother gently rocking in her favorite rocking chair with her knitting in her lap, my father said:

"Now, Joseph," and then I saw my younger brother stand. I noticed he had been a little quiet during the evening. Now he spoke. He told us what we all know so well about his experience of the morning. He told us it was a vision. A remarkable thing occurred to me. In my heart as I heard him speak I had no more doubt about religion. There was no argument in my mind. Somehow, without any thought, without any analysis, I knew he spoke the truth. I did not have to analyze it. I did not want to analyze it. There was no need for it. I was sure.

As I remember back, it seems to me that each of my brothers and sisters were equally sure. I think the whole thing—the whole explanation—was summed up by my father when he said, in his quiet way, "Boys and girls, it is of God." That seemed to be the feeling of all of us.

I experienced also a new feeling toward Joseph. In my eyes, suddenly, though he was but a boy, he seemed to assume the stature of a man, and I had equal confidence, as I had of the sureness of his vision, that he had the stature and would grow to fill it in such a way that he could always carry the burdens which the Lord was placing upon him.

The passing years have done nothing to change my feelings in that respect. He did measure up. For the first time, I guess, since the history in the days of Christ, we had found the truth about the Father and the Son, which is now so clearly testified of in the Scriptures. Up until that time the Father and Son relationship had been a mystery. But another thing we also learned: we learned the true feeling which comes when the Holy Ghost bears witness of the truth, for that, my brethren, was also a part of the revelation that day.

You see, it could not very well be that the Father and the Son could come and reveal themselves to a boy  JS—H 1:17 and have the world believe that boy unless the third member of the Grand Presidency of Heaven also played his part and bore witness to our souls with such sureness we could not fail to accept the fact that what he said was true. It was the still, small voice, not loud, not contentious  1 Kgs. 19:12 We just knew.

Thank you for your patience in this imaginary excursion. My brethren, that great revelation of two glorious Beings, and the testimony of its truth, witnessed by the Holy Ghost—has been the basis of this Church. The strength we have today of a million and three hundred and fifty thousand, our immense outlay of buildings and the vast numbers of you of the Priesthood, is because all of us have also had borne in upon our souls that same, still, small, quiet, witness that indeed the events did transpire; that indeed Joseph Smith was a Prophet; and indeed carried his work to the satisfaction of his Father in Heaven, and we know by the same whispering of the spirit that his keys are held by President McKay and those who associate with him as prophets and seers and revelators.

That is my testimony also, in the name of Christ. Amen.