Hi rial i Fe Feccctbees THHIEEg SS Eaee ; tii Woosh k= 33s crareriahit | ey | 4 ; sth / 433th PEER! SEESTSEL ETL! v a5— are on or before the stamped below. | Return this boo Latest Date §S University of Illinois Library 0) a eee fo aac Hos) ST bd ay 19 {B94 APR th 4 4 208! \PR oY 700 oS UCL _ altace loGg gus 2006 Ig: ‘ora | Yeu 283 - ¥ NOV 5 1$7/5 pr HPP § > oy ¥ } mM 4006 ‘ mt c nh L.161—H41 JUN 54 1994 ee aes! BY ELIZA R. SNOW. “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth !” 2 “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.” OVO re ads POEMS, Religions, AWisturival, amd Politiral, Liberpool : F, D. RICHARDS, 36 ISLINGTON. London: LATTER-DAY SAINTS BOOK DEPOT, 35 JEWIN STREET, CITY. AND ALL BOOKSELLERS, 1856. ENTERED AT STATIONERS’ HALL. Printed by R. James, South Castle Street, Liverpool. Dedication Invocation, or the Eternal Father and Mother Evening Thoughts, or What it is to be a Saint The Gathering of the Saints, and the Commencement of the City of Adam-ondi- Ahman Boe oe Two Chapters of the Life of President Joseph Smith— Introductory Invocation ... Chapter First Chapter Second... Prejudice—W hat is it? The Transformation, or the Tool and the Gem Genius Emancipated, or the Effects of Education on the Human Mind Arrival of the First Colony at Charlestown, Mass. | The Red Man of the South... The Red Man of the West... q j Y3 Lf chQor, “uM i ‘ z PES, 10 Page Vii. My First View of a Western Prairie ... “ee Funeral Hymn Juvenile Hymn The Bride’s Ayowal Birth-day Sonnet to Miss S. True Happiness Mental Gas Apostrophe to Death Slaughter of the Saints on Shoal Creek, Mo. Some Good Things To Sarah... see Appeal to Americans The Saints’ Invocation To the Citizens of Quincy ... Hast thou known Suffering ? Be not Discouraged eae Song of the Exiled Saints ... My own Home The Departed Year 5 As I Believe. Dedicated to President H. C. Kimball... To a Revolutionary Father... INDEX. Columbia! my Country To Mr. and Mrs. S., on the Death of a Child To the Saints in Europe To Elder London, England Lorenzo Snow, The Nauvoo Legion Presentation of the Book of Mormon to Her Majesty Queen Victoria and His Royal Highness Prince Al- bert, &c. ore The Temple of God 3 Missouri ... soo Sas To a Scottish Maiden To Mrs. Haywood... Fc On the Death of the dearly beloved and much lament- ed Father in Israel, Joseph Smith, sen. ee ae On the Death of Brigadier- General D. C. Smith The Funeral of Brigadier- General D. C. Smith Twilight Imaginings. In four Parts— Part First— Invocation of the Muse Part Second—Response of the Muse Part Third—Echo, saad: sing Friendship r Part Fourth—Friendship’s Reply one aoe On the Death of Elder L. D. Barnes Page 79 81 83 85 87 100 103 105 112 1l4 115 116 118 Death of W. H. Harrison, President of the United States of America To Governor Carlin aoe Riots in Congress .. te The Kidnapping of Lieut.- General Joseph Smith ... Jubilee Song =e To he knows who... aoe Your Portrait acs see Supplication ade eee To the Saints for +e To Mrs. L. Obituary Celestial Glory... ows The Assassination of Gene- rals Joseph Smith and Hyrum Smith, First Pre- sidents of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints ... saw ame Let us go... ae aes The Lord is my trust ae The Bereaved Wife Eden ne ewe es Address to Earth ... oe To President Brigham Young To John Taylor, One of the Twelve Apostles The Venerable Mrs. Lucy Smith ... aa Camp of Israel. No. 1. Camp of Israel. No.2. ... In all things rejoice see To the Writers of Fiction ... Lines written on the Infant Son of Mrs. Emma Smith 127 150 133 134 135 136 138 139 142 146 147 149 151 153 155 158 161 163 165 166 A Journeying Song for the Pioneers to the Mountains The Twelve ote To the Venerable Patriarch John Smith To Mrs. V. Kimball To Elder L., on his Depar- ture for Europe... To Charles and Vilate Song of the Desert To President B. Young and Camp The Wife’s Salutation Expectation ave Come to the Valley. To Mrs. M. A. Young, Mrs. V. Kim- ball, and Mrs. E. A. Whit- ney aaa ae ‘To: Hider Po ob. Li... The Mother’s Salutation The Children’s Salutation ... The Salutation of the Saints in the Valley to President B. Young and Counsellors, on their second Arrival Song of Praise and Thanks- giving ... ote On the Death of J. S. The Lord has delivered His People ... Anniversary Song for the Pioneers : Liberty ... nas Lines on the Death of Bishop Newell K. Whitney INDEX. Page 170 173 175 177 178 180 181 183 184 186 188 190 192 194 196 198 200 203 205 207 { ards The Temple All is well Ode National Song v. Page To Mrs. Mary, Consort of the late Hyrum Smith 209 To Elder Franklin D. Rich- SECS mma ese ae cre AMY, The New Year, 1852 212 Celebration Song for the Fourth of July ... =, Pay! To Elder Samuel W. Rich- pee 219 To the Saints in Denmark ... 220 The Narrow Way ... 221 To Mrs. Stenhouse 223 225 eee 22h, Introduction of the Year 1853 228 To an Elder in Israel, on his Departure for Italy 232 A Word to the Saints who are Gathering 234 To Elder John Lyon 235 To Franklin D. Richards 236 Time and Change— 237 aeue a we 204 Ode for the Fourth of July 257 261 Railroad Stanzas ... 263 National Anthem .., 265 To Elder John Kay 266 To Joseph Scofield 268 To Elders F. D. Richards, J. A. Young, W. H. Kim- ball, J. Ferguson, J. A. Little, G. D. Grant, and E. Ellsworth 269 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2021 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign https://archive.org/details/poemsreligioushi00snow_0 Drvicatinn. To all the Saints of God, no matter where Your countries lie, or what your nations are ; To all who love the Truth, and seek it too; To ali the friends of Zion—unto you I dedicate this Volume. May it go To all who will receive it, high and low ; And to the head instructive hints impart, Or what will comfort, cheer, or soothe the heart : To prompt the Saints to be more faithful still, And more submissive to the Father’s will ; More subject to the order God has given On earth, the pattern of the things in heaven. May Zion’s strangers on its pages find A word, a sentence that will strike the mind Perhaps the thing call’d “ Mormonism” is true— Investigate, believe, receive it too, And share in Zion all the blessings given Through an obedience to the law of heaven. There is a state of being, yet to be, Wrapt in the mantle of futunity, When Adam’s sons, the sons of God, will dwell viii DEDICATION. In triumph over all the powers of hell: When earth, restor’d, will yield a rich increase— Zion establish’d, crown’d with joy and peace : When man’s enjoyment will be unalloy’d— His senses all perfected, not destroyd ; Progressing on through immortality, Rise to the Godhead, and eventually, As is the Father, so the sons will be. POEMS. INVOCATION, OR THE ETERNAL FATHER AND MOTHER. O my Father, thou that dwellest In the high and holy place ; When shall I regain thy presence, And again behold thy face ? In thy glorious habitation, Did my spirit once reside ? In my first primeval childhood, Was I nurtur'd near thy side ? For a wise and glorious purpose, Thou hast plac’d me here on earth ; And withheld the recollection Of my former friends and birth ; POEMS. Yet oft-times a secret something Whisper’d, ‘You ‘re a stranger here ;” And I felt that I had wander’d From a more exalted sphere. I had learn’d to call thee Father, Through thy Spirit from on high ; But, until the Key of Knowledge Was restor’d, I knew not why. In the heavens are parents single ? No: the thought makes reason stare : Truth is reason: truth eternal, Tells me I ‘ve a mother there. When I leave this frail existence— | When I lay this mortal by ; | Father, Mother, may I meet you | In your royal court on high ? Then at length, when I’ve completed | All you sent me forth to do; With your mutual approbation, Let me come and dwell with you. POEMS. EVENING THOUGHTS, OR Wire Or iss TO BEL A SATLN TS My heart is fix’d—I know in whom I trust. "Twas not for wealth—’twas not to gather heaps Of perishable things—'twas not to twine Around my brow a transitory wreath, A garland deck’d with gems of mortal praise, That I forsook the home of childhood : that I left the lap of ease—the halo rife With friendship’s richest, soft, and mellow tones ; Affection’s fond caresses, and the cup O’erflowing with the sweets of social life, With high refinement’s golden pearls enrich’d. Ah, no! a holier purpose fir’d my soul ; A nobler object prompted my pursuit. Eternal prospects open’d to my view, And hope celestial in my bosom glow’d. God, who commanded Abraham to leave His native country, and to offer up On the lone altar, where no eye beheld But that which never sleeps, an only son ; POEMS. Is still the same: and thousands who have made A covenant with Him by sacrifice, : Are bearing witness to the sacred truth— Jehovah speaking has reveal’d His will. The proclamation sounded in my ear— It reach’d my heart—I listen’d to the sound— Counted the cost, and laid my earthly all Upon the altar, and with purpose fix’d Unalterably, while the Spirit of HKlijah’s God within my bosom reigns, Embrac’d the Everlasting Covenant; And am determin’d now to be a Saint, And number with the tried and faithful ones, Whose race is measur’d with their life; whose prize. Is everlasting, and whose happiness Is God’s approval ; and to whom ’tis more Than meat and drink to do His righteous will. It is no trifling thing. to be a Saint In very deed—to stand upright, nor bow, Nor bend beneath the heavy pressure of Oppressiveness : to stand unscath’d amid The bellowing thunders and the raging storm Of persecution ; when the hostile powers Of darkness stimulate the hearts of men To warfare—to besiege, assault, and, with The heavy thunderbolts of Satan, aim To overthrow the kingdom God has rear’d : To stand unmovd upon the withering rack POEMS. Of vile apostacy, when men depart From the pure principles of righteousness ; Those principles requiring man to live By every word proceeding from the mouth Of God: to stand unwavering, undismay’d, And unseduc’d, when the base hypocrite, Whose deeds take hold on hell, whose face is garb’d With saintly looks drawn out by sacrilege, From the profession ; but assum’d and thrown Around him for a mantle, to enclose The black corruption of a putrid heart : To stand on virtue’s lofty pinnacle, Clad in the robes of heavenly innocence, Amid that worse than every other blast, The blast that strikes at moral character, With floods of falsehood foaming with abuse : To stand with nerve and sinew firmly steel’d, When in the trying scale of rapid change, Thrown face to face and side by side to that Foul-hearted spirit, blacker than the soul Of midnight’s darkest shade—the traitor, the Vile wretch that feeds his sordid selfishness Upon the peace and blood of innocence ; The faithless, rotten-hearted wretch, whose tongue Speaks words of trust and fond fidelity, While treachery, like a viper, coils behind The smile that dances in his evil eye : To pass the fiery ordeal, and to have The heart laid open, all its contents strew’d Before the bar of strictest scrutiny : To have the finest heart-strings drawn unto Their utmost length, to prove their texture: to Abide, with principle unchang’d, the rack Of cruel, torturing circumstances, which Ride forth on revolution’s blustering gale. But yet, although to be a Saint requires A noble sacrifice—an arduous toil— A persevering aim; the great reward Awaiting the grand consummation will Repay the price, however costly ; and The pathway of the Saint the safest path Will prove; though perilous: for ‘tis foretold, All things that can be shaken, God will shake : Kingdoms and Governments and Institutes, Both civil and religious, must be tried— Tried to the core, and sounded to the depth. Then let me be a Saint, and be prepar’d For the approaching day, which like a snare Will soon surprise the hypocrite—expose The rottenness of human schemes—shake off Oppressive fetters—break the gorgeous reins Usurpers hold, and lay the pride of man— The pride of nations, low in dust ! POEMS. N THE GATHERING OF THE SAINTS, AND THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE CITY OF ADAM-ONDI-AHMAN. Awake! my slumbering Minstrel; thou hast Jain Like one that’s number’d with th’ unheeded slain ! Unlock thy music—let thy numbers flow Like torrents bursting from the melting snow. What though a stranger in a stranger land ? The Gentile ear thou wilt no more command : In that fair field of song thy reign is 0’er— Thou ’st fled its scenery to return no more. Though here no letter’d pinions wait to bear Thy lisping accents through the distant air ; The heavens, indulgent, may perchance to bend, And kind angelic spirits condescend To catch thy notes, and bear thy strains away To regions where celestial minstrels play ; Because the theme which now inspires thy song, Is one that interests the heavenly throng. The God who talk’d with Adam face to face Is speaking now, in these the latter-days, POEMS. And all the righteous men that ever stood Upon the earth, before and since the flood, Unite their faith to roll the kingdom forth, Until the “‘ Little Stone ” shall fill the earth. Joseph’s and Judah’s records join’d in one, A powerful instrument have now become To gather up the Saints, a noble band That will possess the consecrated land. From northern, eastern, and from southern climes The ‘‘ Camp of God” comes up from time to time. Though diffrent customs have their manners form’d, Though various feelings have their bosoms warm 'd, . With one accord they hear the joyful sound, And to Messiah’s standard gather round ; Through stranger lands they trace a tedious road, To places chosen for the Saints’ abode; Beyond the Mississippi's lucid flow, Where Zion’s towers will yet with splendor glow ; For God has set His hand the second time, To gather His dispers’d from every clime. In Jackson County, first they purchas’d land, Where earth’s Metropolis in time will stand. On that choice soil, obtaining legal right, Their hearts exulted with intense delight ; But lo! as yet, the Saints could not be blest With the possession of eternal rest. POEMS. A lawless mob, the nation’s deep’ning stain, Like beasts of prey that ravage o’er the plain, Pour’d forth its rage, and, in extremity, From their dear homes the Saints were fore’d to flee! And thus from time to time were driven forth To seek for shelter further to the north, Where they are building cities to the Lord, That Zion in her strength may be prepar’d, Ere the destroying angel ushers forth, And desolation’s besom sweeps the earth— Ere the broad scourge, by heaven’s inflicting hand, Shall scatter terror through Columbia’s land ! But few full moons have through their orbits play’d Since a foundation in the wild was laid, That Adam-ondi-Ahman might become The pride of nations and the pilgrim’s home. In Dayiess County, in a winding grove, Where the Grand-River’s waters proudly move— Where nature’s fields spread forth on either side In the wild majesty of prairie pride : With files of woodland interspers’d between, Cloth’d with rich foliage, to adorn the scene— At the last dawn of the last Summer’s sun The infant City hardly was begun. How much it seem’d unlike a city then ! "Twas scarce saluted by the feet of men! POEMS. Almost a pathless wild the City lay— God had reserv’d it for the latter-day. But who, on earth, would volunteer and come To an uncultur’d region for a home ? The first to break the soil is Lyman Wight, In this last kingdom an intrepid knight— A dauntless soul—he fear’d not death nor hell ; Then should he fear in the lone wild to dwell ? He comes and locates—mark his destiny— God had prepar’d for him a company : For see, ah, see! in yonder eastern land— In Kartland City, a promiscuous band, Where wheat and tares to such a height had grown That Saints could scarce from hypocrites be known! Many had trifl’d with the things of God, And all must suffer the chastising rod "Neath persecution’s deep, unhallow'd rage, The portion of the Saints in ev'ry age ; While doom’d to feel oppression’s heavy rod From vile apostates, the worst ‘‘ scourge of God!” While all the powers of earth and hell agree To load the righteous with calamity. Some faithful souls were bound in this pell-mell, But how to separate they could not tell. Yet God, whose arm becomes His people’s strength, Protects His Saints, and crowns His work at length: Unto the humble souls who watch and pray, He brings deliverance in His chosen way ; POEMS. And through His Prophet speaks to them, ‘‘ Anon Up, get you hence—flee out from Babylon.” In prompt obedience to the wise command, Many arise and leave their native land— The pleasant homes which habit renders near, With friends and kindred nature holds so dear : For all who win the high, celestial prize, Must seal their covenants by sacrifice. Relying on the Lord’s protecting care, They go, as Abra’m did, ‘‘not knowing where ;” Glad to arrive, through much fatigue and toil, On Adam-ondi-Ahman’s fertile soil. And soon anon, with patient toil and care, The shingl’d roofs are cluster’d here and there. In humble style the City was begun— With rapid progress twas continued on. But Oh! behold! a scenery strange and new— A picture mortal pencil never drew ! "Twas Autumn: Summer's melting breath was gone, And Winter's gelid blast was stealing on : To meet its dread approach, with anxious care The houseless Saints were struggling to prepare ; When round about a desp’rate mob arose, Like tigers waking from a night’s repose— They come like hordes from nether shades let loose— Men without hearts—just made for Satan’s use ! With wild, demoniac rage they sally forth, Resoly’d to drive the Saints of God from earth. POEMS. Instead of building, or preparing food, This peace-destroying mob must be withstood ! To guard their rights, their children, and their wives, The men equip, regardless of their lives, With no alternative, but—fight or die, The hosts of Israel now refuse to fly. The Far-West brethren leave their interests there, In Adam-ondi’s sufferings to share. Hemm’d in by foes—depriv’d the use of mill, Necessity inspir’d their patient skill. Tin pails and stove-pipes, from their service torn, Are chang’d to graters to prepare the corn, That nature’s wants may barely be supplied— They ask no treat, no luxury beside : Determin’d to maintain the sacred post, In spite of earth, in spite of Satan’s host! Conscious their actions were approv’d on high, They dar’d the battle-field, nor fear’d to die. They had no armor such as Hector wore, Nor yet the arms that proud Achilles bore ; But, with the God of battles for their shield, They were content the sword and gun to wield. But see, the threat’ning foe in terror hide, Dark guilt and cowardice go side by side ; Without assault or battle, see them fly— And thus the fearful bloodless war goes by. POEMS. 13 The troubles hush’d, business again revives ; With mutual joy the “ Kirtland Camp” arrives— A houseless host—expos’d to wet and dry ! They hail the City ‘neath the western sky. No lofty spires they find, no princely dome, No costly palace to adorn their home ; But from the tented shade their songs resound, That they a peaceful residence have found ; That thus, their feet are privileg’d to rest Where reverend Adam once his children blest. “Union is strength,” and effort, join’d with skill, In six Autumnal days produc’d a mill! "Twas a rich blessing, with its service blest, Some scores of graters were consign’d to rest. But whence their shelters? Winter hastens fast : Can tents and wagons stem this northern blast ? Through long exposure and the nightly breeze Many, e’en now, are suffering from disease. But ah! how soon the reign of peace is o’er, The Saints must wage relentless war once more ! The reckless mob again in haste return, And patient suffering must be longer borne. Where are thy far-fam’d laws, Columbia ? Where Thy boasted freedom—thy protecting care ? POEMS. Is this a land of Rights? Stern facts shall say If legal justice here maintains its sway. The official powers of State are sheer pretence, When they ’re exerted in the Saints’ defence. Well may the nations of the earth give ear, For lo! the kingdom of our God is near. Let proud usurpers lay their ensigns down, And haughty tyrants lightly hold the crown ! All rival monarchies must soon give way, And Heaven’s Eternal Kingdom bear the sway. Roll on thy glorious work, Eternal God, Till Zion’s terror shall be known abroad ; When one shall chase a thousand, through thy might, And two shall put ten thousand foes to flight ; And thy swift heralds go at thy command To every isle—to every distant land : When one day’s time shall give a nation birth, And Zion’s glory spread o’er all the earth : When Judah’s mountains shall become a plain, And the two continents unite again : Then shall the long-lost Tribes of Israel come To “ dwell in Zion, at Jerusalem.” Daviess Co., Mo., Ocr. 24, 1838. POEMS. TWO CHAPTERS OF THE Pee) Bee Pei Ee Ssh Din Ni Teed:0:S EsP oH 9 Si Pn. INTRODUCTORY INVOCATION, Thou Great Eternal of Eternity, Thou God of Abraham, I look to thee : Thou Omnipresent One, incline thine ear, And me, a child of dust, vouchsafe to hear. The Seer and Prophet of the latter days Is now my theme—his history help me trace ; For thy approval, Lord, shall prompt my pen, Regardless of the praise or blame of men. | Wisdom and knowledge, light and truth are thine ; Let thy intelligence upon me shine : Give power of thought this matter to indite ; I Instruct me what, instruct me how to write. With truth’s bold eloquence my mind inspire, | And warm my minstrel with celestial fire : Thy approbation is the boon I claim ; With that, it matters not who praise or blame. POEMS. CHAPTER FIRST. Description of the religious world — The order of God, in communicating to the human family, the same in all ages — The work of the Lord in the last days — The instrument of His choice — His parentage, §c. The Nineteenth Century was spreading out Its ample fold—Improvement’s rapid march Was heralded—Intelligence was borne On downy pinions o’er the face of earth : And yet, in spite of all the noisy boast, It was an age of darkness. Shadows dark Envelop’d deeply the broad scenery Of the religious world. The praise of Truth Was loudly trumpeted by multitudes ; And multitudes, before its empty name— Some for the sake of honor, some for ease, And some by motives pure as heaven inspir’d, But more, far more, for “ filthy lucre’s ” sake— Were daily bowing down and worshipping. The people had heap’d up unto themselves Teachers with “itching ears.” All Christendom Was groaning underneath the ponderous weight Of priests without a Priesthood. Every form And shadow of authority which they Held in possession, had been smuggld from The great apostate Mother Church of Rome ! POEMS. hg The heavens above were seal’d—The glorious lamp Of Inspiration had withdrawn its rays Of pure supernal light—Jehovah’s voice For centuries by man had not been heard. The light that God ordain’d to emanate From the long-treasur’d page of “‘ Holy Writ,” By human sacrilege and foul abuse, By adding shade to shade of mysticism, Had been adulterated and obscur’d. . Faith had become exterminated: Faith, The principle of power pertaining to The Holy Priesthood, which the Lord conferr’d On man in former times—the power by which He rent the vail and gaz’d on heavenly things, Or drew the curtain of futurity Aside, and converse held with distant scenes, Closely envelop’d in the years to come. Some truly thirsted for the precious gifts— The light, the glory and intelligence Of ancient times ; while others vainly thought The history contain’d the essence of The things declar’d—that the rehearsal of Those blessings had transferr'd the blessings | down : As though a hungry man could satisfy His appetite upon the bare belief That other starving people had been fed. POEMS. The Priesthood gone—the Church was but a wreck ; And like a ship without a rudder, toss’d Upon the boist’rous waves of changeful Time, Until the “‘ Ancient Order ” was extinct. The Urim and the Thummim hid away— The human mind was left to wander through The mazy fields of erring reason, and To float at large upon aerial forms ; Borne onward by contingence’ fickle breeze. Hence mental aberrations oftentimes Assum’d a threat’ning aspect, and appear’d Impervious as the darksome catacombs ‘ Of ancient structure ; sometimes swelling to Gigantic size; on which was sacrific’d A sum of happiness of more amount ) Than could be purchas’d with the price of all The hecatombs that have been offer’d yet In sacrifice to heathen deities. The God of Abra’m has a purpose, which From all eternity He has decreed To execute upon the earth. The Lord Makes use of human instruments for the Accomplishment of His designs on earth— In every age in which He has perform’d His mighty works, He rais’d up chosen men, Commission’d by Himself—invested with His own authority ; through whom He spoke To earth’s inhabitants ; and by whose means He mov'd—He roll’d His mighty purpose forth. Noah was call’d in his degen’rate age, To teach the principles of righteousness To a corrupt, stiff-necked race of men— To seal the testimony and bind up The law. When God would call His people out From under Egypt’s yoke, He gave command To Moses, whom He had rais’d up, to lead To Canaan’s land, the tribes of Israel. The ancient Prophets all have testified That in the latter days the Lord would do A work, in magnitude and interest Surpassing every work perform’d below, Since Earth was moulded in its spheric form. At length the time, the chosen time arriv’d For the commencement of the glorious work— “ The restitution of all things ;” which will Restore the earth to its primeval state, And usher in the long-expected reign Of Jesus Christ. But where ’s a righteous man, Like unto Enoch, Noah, Abraham, And Moses, who can stand in battle’s front, Amid the persecuting rage of men, And guide the helm of turn and overturn, Amid the wreck of every human scheme, While God shall revolutionize the world ? Jehovah knew: His eye was fix’d on one Whom He had chosen from eternity ; And in His choice He counsell’d not with man! And he, of all mankind, whom God ordain’d, Is now the subject of the writer’s pen. Was he an earthly prince—of royal blood ? Had he been bred in courts, or dandled on The lap of wealth and luxury? Or was His name emblazon’d on the spire of Fame ? No, no: he was not of a kingly race, Nor could he be denominated great, If balanc’d in the scale of worldly rank. Though not like Jesus in a manger born, He was of humble birth: his parents were Honest, upright, industrious, and poor, And grac’d the narrow sphere allotted them. His father was an husbandman ; and he Was call'd, like old Elisha, from the plough, To be a Prophet of the living God. POEMS. CHAPTER SECOND. The nativity of Joseph Smith— Religious revival—His impressions—Vision — Announcement — Ejfects on his former friends — Reflections. Vermont, a land much fam’d for hills and snows And blooming cheeks, may boast the honor of The Prophet’s birth-place. Ere ten Summer’s suns Had bound their wreath upon his youthful brow, His father with his family remov’d ; And in New York, Ontario County, since Call’d Wayne, selected them a residence ; First in Palmyra, then in Manchester. Religion was the fashion of the day— Religious vot’ries and religious sects, From time to time, like bees in Summer, swarm’d. In Manchester a great excitement rose, And multitudes of converts join’d themselves Unto the sects ; and Joseph’s tender mind Was deeply and most solemnly impress’d With the importance of eternal things. But then, amid the strange confusedness Of cleric strifes and proselyting schemes, His mind was left to wander in the dark Impenetrable maze of doubt and deep Anxiety ; to ascertain the one, Of all the various sects, that God approv’d. The recklessness of childhood was but just Diverging into youth—his tender years Were yet unripen’d with the radiance of His fifteenth Summer's sun. “Which way ws right 2” Was the inquiry of his anxious mind ; When loud, as though an angel’s whisper came Upon the breeze, a clear suggestion spoke With more than mortal meaning, to his heart— “Tf any man lack wisdom, let him ask Of God, who giveth lib’rally to all, Upbraiding not.” All human aid was vain— No earthly counsel could avail him aught ; And in his heart he purpos’d to obtain The wisdom from above. One beauteous morn, When not a cloud was seen to hover o’er The broad horizon—when the vernal sun Pour’d his reviving rays on Nature's crest, Already deck’d with sweetly scented flowers— He sought retirement in the woodland shade ; In secret there to lift his heart and voice To God, in prayer. In all his life before, He had not shap’d his thoughts and his desires For vocal supplication. In the depth POEMS. Of nature’s wild retreat—where secrecies | Of thought pour'd forth, could only reach the ear Of Him to whom the secrets of all hearts Are known—he spread the burthen of his soul Before the Lord. He scarce had bow’d himself In humble posture, when, with iron grasp, A power invisible laid hold on him. His prayer was interrupted, for his tongue Was suddenly in speechless silence chain’d. Thick atmospheric darkness gather’d round— Destruction seem’d inevitable, and Into the deep recesses of his heart Despair was fastening its poison’d barb. Then, with a mighty effort of his mind, He rais’d his struggling heart to God, and sought Deliverance from above ; when suddenly A pillar, brighter than the noon-day sun, Precisely o’er his head, descending, fell Around him; and he felt himself unbound And liberated from the terrors of The strong, unearthly grasp with which he was Most fearfully enchain’d. No sooner had The glory from on high around him shone, And the demoniac grasp dissever’d, than He saw two glorious personages stand Above him in the air; surrounded with The light that had envelop’d him. With joy, Wrapt in astonishment, he heard himself Address’d. Address’d by whom? Address’d by what? 24 POEMS. Was that indeed a voice he heard, or was Imagination, with its frenzied harp, Playing upon the organs of his mind ? Was that the speech of fancy which he heard ? And was it the soft echo of the strains Of phantom-music on his ear? And were The glorious figures which he saw, the forms Of airiness and wild delusive thought ? O no: the heavens had verily upfurl'd The sable curtain which defines the bounds "Twixt earth and immortality ; and he Was gazing on celestials, and he heard The voice of the Eternal. One of the Bright personages whom he saw, referr’d Him to the other, and address’d him thus, “¢ Joseph, this is my well beloved Son, Hear him.” To know his duty, was indeed The burthen of his mind—the theme of all His soul’s solicitude. Accordingly, No sooner had he got possession of Himself, with power to speak, than he inquir’d, ‘“‘ Which of the sects is right ?” for yet the thought That all were wrong, had not occurr’d to him. And what was his astonishment, to hear The being who address’d him, say, ‘‘ None of The various sects are right; and all their Creeds Are an abomination in my sight.” He said that the professing world was all POEMS. 25 Corrupt. ‘ They with their lips draw near to me, And while their hearts are far away, they teach For doctrines the commandments of mankind. They have the form of godliness, but they Deny the power thereof.” A second time He said to Joseph that he should not join Himself to any sect. Much else was said ; And then the heavens were curtain’d from his view. With all the frankness, and simplicity, And unsuspecting nature of his young And inexperienc’d heart; like Paul of old, He soberly declar’d the novel fact— Novel to modern ears—that he had seen A heavenly vision ; and the consequence Fell heavy on him! Did those Christian friends, Whose pious zeal had prompted them before, To proffer him a fostering guardianship, Approach him then, with hearts—with bosoms, warm With charity and tenderness ? Did those Professing to believe the record of The visions, prophecies, and gifts of Saints In ancient times ; rejoice with him to hear That God was still the same to answer prayer— To open heaven, and show the secrets of Eternity? Ah! no. The very fact That he had seen a vision, broke the bond Of friendship ; and an awful avalanche POEMS. Of persecution fell upon him, hurl’d By the rude blast of cleric influence ! Contempt, reproach, and ridicule were pour’d, Like thunderbolts, in black profusion, o’er His youthful head; as if to blast the bud Of character—to wither reputation, ere It could be strengthen’d by maturing years. And all for what? - Ah! wherefore all this aim Of high and low, to strike a blow at one So young, so innocent, and so obscure ? Because that he, in faith and confidence, Pray’d unto God, and God had heard his prayer ; And, faithful to His promise as in times Of old, had pour’d the blessings out to him According to his faith. Such was his erime— Such was the character of that misdeed Which the religious world reported such. But what avail’d the malice of the world With him? He’d seen a heavenly vision, and Had heard the voice of Him who does not lie ; And all the powers of darkness, speaking through The human tongue, could never teach him to Unknow what he authentically knew. His eyes had seen—his ears had heard—he 'd felt The power of the Eternal Deity. How sweet the joys of conscious innocence : How peaceful is the calm within the breast, When conscience speaks in approbative tones Softer than notes that swell the harpsichord, POEMS. And testifies within, that all is well. With what a noble, heavenly feeling does The bosom swell ; and how composedly The spirit rests and feels secure from all “The strife of tongues ;” reposing on the firm, Immovable, unchangeable defence— The bulwark of the favor of the Lord. PREJUDICE — WHAT IS IT? ‘Tis not an orb, dispensing light, Like that which shines in yonder heaven : "Tis not a star that glitters bright, Like those that deck the crest of even’. "Tis not a fountain, full and free, Whence moral beauties sweetly flow: "Tis not a harp whose minstrelsy Can intellectual charms bestow. 28 POEMS. Tis not a pinion, form’d to bear The mind where Reason’s hosts resort : "Tis not a chart, directing where Investigation holds his court. "Tis not a knight, inspir’d to win The highest mental prize, forsooth : "Tis not a monitor within, Which prompts a search for every truth. It is a clog, prepar’d to hold The noble powers of reason down— A curtain, whose thick, sable fold, The strongest vision seems to bound. It is a charm, infusing deep A deadly soporific spell; Which lulls the faculties to sleep, And softly whispers, ‘‘ All is well.” It is a bolt, whose massy weight The strength and skill of truth defies— A prison wall, before whose gate Bold common sense affrighted flies. It is a fetter, made to bind Inquiry’s impulse from the soul ; While ignorance sways the human mind And every power of thought controls. POEMS. THE TRANSFORMATION, eet One AoN De EH We GEM I saw a thing of rudest form, From mountain’s base brought forth— A useless gem—devoid of charm, And wrapp’d in cumbrous earth. Its rough exterior met the eye, With a repulsive show ; For every charm was fore’d to he In buried depths below. The Sculptor came. I wonder’d when His pliant tool was brought : He pass’d it o’er the gem, and then I mark’d the change it wrought. Kach cumbrance from its surface clear’d— The gem expos’d to view— Ifs nature and its worth appear’d, Its form expansive grew. 30 POEMS. By gentle strokes it was set free— By softer touch refin’d ; Till beauty, grace, and majesty Were with its nature join’d. Its lustre kindled to a blaze— "Twas Wisdom’s lamp begun ; And soon the splendor of its rays Hclips’d the noon-day sun. That gem was chain’d in crudeness, till The Sculptor lent his aid : I wonder’d at the ready skull His potent hand display’d. It was the virtue of his tool, Of fine, transforming edge ; Which serv’d for pencil, mould, and rule, For polisher and sledge. That tool requires a skilful hand— That gem no chain should bind : That tool is Hducation, and That gem, the Human Mind. POEMS. 31 GENIUS EMANCIPATED, OR THE EFFECTS OF EDUCATION ON THE HUMAN MIND. The scene was rude, and in its scenic pride Wild, mossy thickets cluster’d side by side : Spontaneous rubbish cloth’d the rugged soil— The lean-brake doated on the thistle’s smile— — Nature’s green umbrage closely interwove, And form’d the darksome, orbless arch above. There, on the rocky base, by Ignorance chain’d, Untam’d, uncultur’d, savage Genius reign’d. Thick clouds of vapor gather’d round her head— Her winding paths, through miry mazes led— Her ling’ring step, and vague, ambiguous air, Express’d distraction rather than despair. Her harsh speech grated through the craggy oaks, Or fell unheeded on embedded rocks— Her harp was silent, and it matter’d not, For no kind gale could reach th’ ill-fated spot ; And when full aiming at the vocal song, She seem’d the mimic of a palsied tongue. POEMS. At length, amid the strange, mysterious gloom, Freedom’s bold spirit shook the bolted tomb ; And Education, usher’d into birth, Rose, Phoenix-like, to renovate the earth. The scene is chang’d—the scenery now appears Like Hope’s fine portrait of prospective years : A powerful skill has swept th’ encumber’d soil, And made it teem with honey, wine, and oil: Fair lilies flourish and gay tulips bud, Fresh roses bloom where prickly brambles stood, Tall trees are bending with perennial fruit, And golden diamonds sparkle at the root ; Unbounded prospects in succession rise On either side, and tower amid the skies. See Genius now in splendid robes array’d ; Expanding blossoms deck her laurel’d head ; Fair gems of science brighten on her brow ; She speaks—kings nod, and thrones and empires bow: She takes the harp, and letter’d pinions bear Kestatic music through the ambient air. Lo, she ascends Olympus’ blazing height, Where fabled deities carouse in light : Aspiring still, she aims at crowns on high, And seeks a passport to the upper sky— Obtains the grant, by Inspiration given, And with its chart and compass, sails to heaven— And through the Priesthood, in the bright abode, Is crown’d immortal at the throne of God. POEMS. 33 | TREE, ARERR OES ARRIVAL OF THE FIRST COLONY IN CHARLESTOWN, MASSACHUSETTS. The historical accounts of the early settlements in Ameriea, seem little else than catalogues of fatigue, deprivation, and distress. The Colony un- der Governor Winthrop, arrived at Charlestown, Mass., in the summer of 1630. In the following winter they were visited with a “mortal pestilence and wasting famine.” They were relieved from the sufferings of the latter by the arrival of a ship laden with provisions, on the 5th of February. That surely was a trying day— A time that tells of human grief : Then the stout heart of courage fell away, And every eye turn’d upward for relief. | And there was no sound like the voice of glee, For the maiden’s bosom heavy d fearfully ; And the young man wept, and his voice was low, And there was no sound but the sound of woe : And a stiffning corse the father lay, And none could repeat his parting word, | For the mother’s spirit had swoon’d away, And the infant was left to weep unheard ! | And the plague mov’d on | With a fearful breath, 7 | | Till the pious brave in hordes had gone To people the dark, cold land of death. They ’d left their homes and brav’d the sea In search of sacred liberty ; But scarcely o’er the tossing wave Before they found, Upon the red man’s hunting ground, In the ‘‘ New World,” a grave. But to the dying, death was kind, As dear as life itself may be ; For unto those that staid behind Famine renew’d the cup of misery ! Nature will never be denied— Her wants, though few, must be supplied : The pilgrims felt the stern demand, In winter, on a stranger land. "Twas a gen'rous price : all ills to endure That their children’s children might dwell secure : But their hearts were brave, and shed murmur'd not At the troublous scenes of their own hard lot ; And they chas‘d from the eye the tears that come At the thought of the land they had call’d their home. Look there! a ship is just at hand— An English sail from Europe’s land ! Then gladness beam’d in every eye ; The children dane’d, they knew not why ; The mother kiss’d her laughing boy ; It was a scene of frantic joy! THE RED MAN OF THE SOUTH. How long shall we be hunted, like foxes in the chase, And, like the wild-deer, made to fly before the white man’s face ? How long will av’rice govern you, ye haughty sons of pride ? How long will fraud attest your claim, and force, the right decide ? Once we were savage wanderers, wild as our own rude bowers ; We gloried in the wilderness, and thought creation ours; The forest, our large storehouse, abundant game insur’d, And, folded in its bosom, we felt ourselves secur’d. Cast in the mould of nature, our minds an impress took Congenial with the mountain cliff and the meand’ring brook : We knew no studied classics: our fathers’ feats of old, Were through tradition’s faith preservd, and by our mothers told. You've tam’d our vagrant spirits, and taught us how to prize The worth of local treasures, the bliss of local joys : POEMS. You've taught us manufact’ring skill—we love the tame employ ; You've taught us arts of husbandry—we prize the har- vest joy. You've taught us home is very dear; and many a year of toil Has made our homes seem beautiful, here on our fathers’ soil : Our souls, of softer texture now, can suit their tastes no more Among the wild ferocities which satisfied before. | No more the deserts charm us, no more we feel a pride In ranging o’er the lofty peaks, or by the mountain’s side : Our wants, by knowledge multiplied, would mock our best pretence To gain, by rude and scanty means, a proper competence. Divest us of the habits in civil life acquir’d— Obliterate the feelings those habits have inspir’d— Give back our roving natures, our tomahawk and bow— Then, with our wives and little ones, to western wilds we'll go. The foregoing was written at the time when the subject of re- moving the Southern Indians to the West, was discussed in the Congress of the United States of America, in 1830. THE RED MAN OF THE WEST. ~The Great Spirit, ‘tis said, to our forefathers gave All the lands ‘twixt the eastern and western big wave ; And the Indian was happy—he’d nothing to fear, As he rang’d o’er the mountains, in chase of the deer ; And he felt like a prince, as he steer’d the canoe, Or explor’d the lone wild, with his hatchet and bow— Quench’d his thirst at the streamlet, or simply he fed, With the heavens for his curtain, the hillock his bed. Say, then was he homeless? No: no, his heart beat For the dear ones he lov’d, in the wigwam retreat. But a wreck of the white man came over the wave : In the chains of the tyrant, he'd learn’d to enslave : Emerging from bondage and pale with distress, He fled from oppression—he came to oppress ! Yes, such was the white man, invested with power ; When almost devour’d, he would turn to devour. He seiz’d our possessions, and, fatt’ning with pride, He thirsted for glory, but ‘‘ freedom,” he cried. Our fathers were brave—they contended awhile, Then left the invader the coveted soil : The spoiler pursued them, our fathers went on, And their children are now at the low, setting sun: 38 POEMS. The white man, yet prouder, would grasp all the shore : He smuggl’d and purchas’d and coveted more. The pamper’d blue Eagle is stretching its crest Beside the great waters that circle the west ; Behind the west wood, where the Indian retires, The white man is building his opposite fires, To fell the last forest, and burn up the wild Which nature design’d for her wandering child. Chas’d into environs, and no where to fly ; Too weak to contend, and unwilling to die ! O, where will a place for the Indian be found ? Shall he take to the skies ? Or retreat underground ? POEMS. MY FIRST VIEW OF A WESTERN PRAIRIE. The loveliness of Nature always did Delight me. In the days of childhood, when My young light heart, in all the buoyancy Of its own bright imagination’s spell, Beat in accordant consonance to all For which it cherish’d an affinity, The Summer glory of the landscape rous’d Within my breast a princely feeling. Time's Obliterating strokes cannot erase The impulse, with my being interwove ; And oftentimes, in the fond ecstacy Of youth’s effervescence, I’ve gaz’d Upon the richly variegated fields, Which most emphatically spoke the praise Of Nature, and the Cultivator’s skill. But when I heard the western trav ler paint The splendid beauties of the far-off West ; Where Nature’s pastures, rich and amply broad, Waving in full abundance, seem to mock The agriculturists of eastern soil ; I grew incredulous that Nature's dress A) POEMS. Should be so rich, and so domestic, and So beautiful, without the touch of Art ; And thought the picture fancifully wrought. Yet, in the process of revolving scenes, I left the place of childhood and of youth ; And as I journey'd t’ward the setting sun, As if awaking from a nightly dream, Into a scenery grand and strangely new, I almost thought myself transported back Upon the retrograding wheel of time, To days and scenes when Greece presided o'er The destinies of earth; and when she shone Like her ador’d Apollo; without one Tall rival in the field of Literature ; And fancied then myself as standing on That towering mount of truly classic fame That overlooks the rich, the fertile, and The far-extended vales of Crissa: or That in some wild poetic spell, of deep Unconscious recklessness, I'd stray’d afar Upon the flowing plains of Marathon. But soon reflection’s potent wand dispell’d The false illusion, and I realiz’d That I was not inhaling foreign air, Or moving in a scene emblazon’d with The classic legends of antiquity. O, no: the scenery around was not Enchantment. “Twas the bright original Of those fair images and ideal forms, POEMS. Which fancy’s pencil is so prompt to sketch. Instead of treading on lonian fields, I stood upon Columbian soil, and in The rich and fertile State of Illinois. Amaz’d, I view’d until my optic nerve Grew dull and giddy with the frenzy of The innocent delight ; and I exclaim’d, With Sheba’s queen, ‘‘ One half had not been told.” | But then my thoughts—can I describe my thoughts ? No: for description’s liveliest powers grow lame, Whenever put upon the chase of things Of non-existence ; and my thoughts had all, Like liquid matter, melted down, and had Become, as with a secret touch, absorb’d In the one all-engrossing feeling of Deep admiration, vivid and intense. And my imagination too, for once Acknowledg’d its own imbecility, And cower’d down as if to hide away ; For all its powers had been too cold and dull, Too tame and too domestic far, to draw A parallel with the bold grandeur, and The native beauty, of the ‘* Western World !” 42 POEMS. FUNERAL HYMN. ‘“‘ How calm and beautiful the morn That gilds the sacred tomb Where once the Crucified was borne And vail’d in midnight gloom. O weep no more a Savior slain ; The Lord is ris’n—he lives again.” Enthron’d in everlasting day, He lives no more to die: He stoop’d to death, to lead the way To happiness on high : O’er death triumphant, and the grave, He lives above, with power to save. Beyond this earthly vale of tears, Of sorrow, toil, and pain ; Beyond this pilgrimage of years, A glorious rest remains : Then weep no more, but follow on Where our departed friends are gone ; Where pure and noble spirits are, That taste of heavenly rest ; To join the great assemblies there, And mingle with the blest ; Where health and youth and beauty bloom In endless triumph o’er the tomb. To raise a wretched fallen race To sceptred crowns on high, The Savior left his Father’s face, And came to bleed and die ! Shout, shout! O shout the highest strain ; He conquer’d death and rose again. And now with joy, salvation treads Through death’s forbidding gloom— The light of life eternal spreads A halo round the tomb. Then weep no more—the Saints that die Are hail’d with joy in worlds on high. JUVENILE HYMN. I'll serve the Lord while I am young, And, in my early days, Devote the music of my tongue To my Redeemer’s praise. I praise his name that he has given Me parentage and birth, Among the most belov’d of heaven That dwell upon the earth. O Lord, my parents here preserve, To teach me righteousness ; That my young feet may never swerve From paths of holiness : And, like the faithful ones of old, Who now behold thy face, May I be form’d in virtue’s mould To fill a holy place. While youth and beauty sweetly twine Their garlands round my head, Ill seek, at wisdom’s sacred shrine, The gems that never fade. Long may I sing thy praises here Among thy Saints below ; And in eternity appear With them in glory too. POEMS. THE BRIDE'S AVOWAL. My lord, the hour approaches, Our destinies to twine In one eternal wreath of fate ; As holy beings join. May God approve our union, May angels come to bless ; And may our bridal wreath be gemm’d With endless happiness. My bosom’s best affections I never could resign, Until thy goodness drew them forth ; And now my heart is thine. Confiding in thy guardian care, I cheerfully forego All else of happiness, to share With thee, in weal or woe. The world has smil'd upon me— I scorn its flattery ; For naught but thy approving look, Is happiness to me. I would not sell thy confidence, For all the pearls that strew The ocean's bed, or all the gems That sparkle in Peru. POEMS. BIRTH-DAY SONNET. TO MISS. 8. "Tis music’s self—how sweet to sing The waking loveliness of Spring, When flowery nations, rising forth, Perfume the air and deck the earth. How charming is the morning ray That ushers in the blaze of day ! How beauteous is the op’ning flower That decorates the vernal bower ! But what is more delightful far, Than Spring and morn and flowerets are, Is youth that early seeks to God, And spreads religion’s light abroad. When female graces sweetly join, And with religion’s charms combine, With faith and hopes that will not bend, How grand the aim—how great the end ! And if there’s aught beneath the sun That angels love to look upon, POEMS. "Tis when the youthful powers of mind Are to the laws of God inclin’d. Let scorn unvail its vulgar art, Let pale-fac’d envy point its dart, Your heart is fix’d, a crown to gain Where God and Christ forever reign. TRUE HAPPINESS. The noblest, proudest joys that this World’s favor can dispense, Are far inferior to the bliss Of conscious innocence. The joy that in the bosom flows, No circumstance can bind ; It is a happiness that knows No province but the mind. It makes the upright soul rejoice, With weight of ills opprest, To hear the soothing, still small voice Low whispering in the breast. The favor of the mighty God, The favor of His Son, The Holy Spirit shed abroad, The hope of life to come, Are higher honors, richer worth, Surpassing all reward— Than kings and princes of the earth Have taken or conferr’d. And when, in Christ, the spirit finds That sweet, that promis’d rest, In spite of every power that binds, We feel that we are blest. Though vile reproach its volumes swell, And friends withdraw their love ; If conscience whispers, “‘ All is well,” And God and heaven approve ; We'll triumph over every ill, And hold our treasure fast ; And stand at length on Zion's hill, Secure from every blast. POEMS. A9 MENTAL GAS. Charles to his teacher—Sir, you say That nature’s laws admit decay— That changes never cease ; And yet you say, no void or space ; "Tis only change of shape or place— No loss, and no increase. That space or vacuum, sir, explain— When solid sense forsakes the brain, Pray what supplies its place ? O, sir, 1 think I see it now— When substance fails, you will allow Air occupies the space. Not so, my child, that rule must fail ; For, by my philosophic scale, The substitute for sense Is lighter far than common air ; And with the most consummate care, No chemic skill can dense. But when misfortune turns the screw, "Tis oft compress’d from outward view— By outward force confin’d : ‘The mill-boy on his pacing steed, But with expansive power ‘twill rise, Destroy the man, increase his size, And swell his optics blind. Of various hues, yet still the same ; Though mental gas its chemic name, Some Poets call it pride : Th’ important aid this gas imparts Among the various human arts Can never be denied. This gas, entire, may be obtain’d From sculls whence sense is mostly drain’d, Or never had supplies : | But were the noblest heads disclos’d, From acts and motives decompos’d, This mental gas would rise. The parson’s lecture, lawyer's plea, Devoted sums of charity, The sage with book profound ; The Muse’s pen, the churchman’s creed, Are more or less compound. POEMS. 51 APOSTROPHE TO DEATH. What art thou, Death ? I've seen thy visage, and Have heard thy sound—the deep, low murm ring sound That rises o’er thy tread. Thy land is call’d A land of shadows, and thy path, a path Of blind contingence, gloominess, and fear : Thy form comprising all that’s terrible. For all the terrors that have cross’d the earth, Or crept into its lowest depths, have been Associated with the thoughts of Death. The tales of old bear record of thy deeds ; For thou hast been, in every rank and grade, In every circumstance, in every place, A visitor. - Unceremoniously Thou’st strode into the mansions of the great, And rous’d a stream of agonizing grief Upon the rich, embroider’d carpetings That decorate the splendid citadels Where pomp and fashion reign, where‘bolts and bars, 52 POEMS. To all intruding forms, except thyself, Preclude admittance. Thou hast added oft, To the abode of wretched poverty, A larger, deeper draught of wretchedness. The rich and poor, the little and the great, Have shar'd thy bitterness ; have felt thy hand. But thou art chang’d—the terror of thy looks, The darkness that encompass’d thee is gone : There is no frightfulness about thee now. Intelligence, the everlasting lamp Of Truth—of Truth Eternal, lighted from The worlds on high, has pour’d its brilliant flame Abroad, to scatter darkness and to chase The horrors that attended thy approach ; And thou art chang’d. For since the glorious light Of revelation shone upon thy path, Thou seemst no more a hideous monster, arm’d With javlins, arrows, shafts, and iron barbs, To fix in everlasting hopelessness The noblest prospect and the purest aim. Beyond thy presence and beyond thy reach, Beyond the precincts of thy dread domain, Beyond the mansions where in silence lie The scatter’d relics of thy ghastly power, High on eternity’s projecting coast, A glorious beacon rears its lofty disk ; POEMS. 53 And the bright beams of Immortality, By revelation’s bold reflection given, Have fall’n upon thee, and roll’d back the shades Which superstition, ignorance, and doubt Had heap’d like ocean’s mountain waves upon Thy lone, unsocial, hourly trodden path. Hope, the bright luminary of the heart, Is coursing round thee ; and her orbit’s breadth Extends beyond the utmost of thy shades, And points her radius to celestial spheres. The mask that hung in troubl’d folds around Thy pulseless bosom, has been torn aside. Seen as thou art, by Inspiration’s hght, Thou hast no look the righteous need to fear. With all thy ghastliness, with all the grief Thy presence brings, I hear a thrilling tone Of music, sweet as seraph notes that ride Upon the balmy breath of summer-eve. No more a tyrant, holding the black reins Of government, that binds the destinies Of man’s existence, thou, O Death, art but A haggard porter, charg’d to wait before The Grave—Life’s portal to the worlds on high. 54 POEMS. Here in a land that freemen call their home, Far from the influence of papal Rome— Yes, in a “* mild and tolerating age,” The Saints have fallen “neath the barb’rous rage Of men inspir’d by that misjudging hate Which ignorance and prejudice create. I]l-fated men, whose minds would hardly grace The most ferocious of the brutal race ; Men without feeling—else their hearts would bleed At the commission of so foul a deed As that, when they, at Shoal Creek in Caldwell, Upon an unresisting people fell ; Whose only crime was, daring to profess Th’ eternal principles of righteousness. "Twas not enough for that infernal crew To murder men—they shot them through and through ! Frantic with rage, they pour’d their molten lead Profusely on the dying and the dead! K’en mercy’s claim, which heaven delights to hear, Fell disregarded on relentless ears. Long, o’er the scene of that unhappy eve, Will the lone widow and the orphan grieve. POEMS. Their savage foes, with greedy avrice fir’d, Plunder’d their murder’d victims and retir’d ; And at the shadowy close of parting day In slaughter’d heaps husbands and fathers lay! There lay the dead and there the dying ones— The air reverberating with their groans ! Night's sable sadness mingling with the sound, Spread a terrific hideousness around. Ye wives and mothers, think of woman then, Left in a group of dead and dying men. Her hopes were blasted—all her prospects riven, Save one—she trusted in the God of heaven. Yet for the dead, her widow’d heart-strings crave A last kind office—yes, a decent grave. Description fails—Though language is too mean To paint the horrors of that dreadful scene ; All things are present to His searching eye, Whose ears are open to the raven’s cry. 56 POEMS. SOME GOOD THINGS. When from injustice’ bitter cup Were fore’d to drink the portion up, And wait in silence heaven’s reward, "Tis good to lean upon the Lord. When haplessly we're plac’d among The venom of a lying tongue, ‘Tis good to feel our spirits pure, And our inheritance secure. "Tis good, ‘tis soothing to the mind, If friends we cherish prove unkind, And meet us with an angry mood, To know we sought to do them good. When pale-fac’d Envy seeks to fling Across our path its envious sting, "Tis good to know we never aim’d To gain a prize that others claim’d. When by unmerited demand We bow beneath oppression’s hand, "Tis good within ourselves to know That tides of fortune ebb and flow. POEMS. When persecution aims to blind The judgment and pervert the mind, "Tis good to know the path we've trod Is sanction’d and approv’d of God. When superstition’s meagre form Goes forth and stirs the wrathful storm, "Tis good, amid the blast, to find A steadfast, firm, decided mind. When we are tossing to and fro Amid the varying scenes below, "Tis good to hope through Jesus’ love To share his glorious rest above. "Tis good to live by every word Proceeding from the mouth of God : "Tis good His faithfulness to trust, And freely own His precepts just. TO SARAH. Sarah, I love you—I have lov'd you long With love that can’t be utter’d in a song— That will not perish with life’s hopes and fears, But lives and strengthens with increasing years. God, our great Father, we should love supreme— All else, proportion’d to their love for Him ; And through obedience, without ceasing, aim To gain His presence, there, from whence we came. Life’s scenes, like furnaces, are form’d to prove Our textures, and prepare us yet to move In spheres immortal, glorious and divine, And pour salvation on our kindred line. APPEAL TO AMERICANS. *O Liberty! O sound once delightful !”’ Our forefathers fought and our forefathers bled ! Let them rest in peace in their gory bed : O, awake them not from their deep repose, Lest their hearts should bleed o’er their children’s woes. For Freedom’s prize the brave vet’rans fought, And Equal Rights was the boon they sought : They obtain’d it at length, and their country’s smile Arous’d the envy of Britain’s Isle. For her sons were free—they could worship God Without fear of reproach, or the tyrant’s rod : Then, then was a time that tears could flow, And the heart could melt over tales of woe. But Columbia, where, O where is now The bright wreath of glory that deck’d thy brow ? Let thy patriots sleep, and awake them not ; And thy heroes’ deeds—let them be forgot ; For the blood-stain’d banner their conquests won, Has its sacred protection now withdrawn ! 60 POEMS. There's a dark, foul stain on the Eagle’s crest, For Columbia’s sons have her sons oppress'd ; And, chas’d into exile, now they roam Far away from their land, and their much lov’d home. Awake ! all ye sons of Freedom, awake, And redeem your cause, for Columbia's sake— Give us back our rights ere eternal shame Shall wither the wreath of our country’s fame. Shall we, must we rank with the barbarous age Stamp’d with persecution’s unhallow'd rage ? Shall the foul misdeeds of a neighboring State Blast the Union's glory and seal her fate ? Shall the haughty monarchs of Kurope say That Columbia’s splendor has faded away ? No, Awake, ye sons of Freedom, awake ! And redeem your cause, for Columbia's sake. Quincy, Itu., APRIL, 1839. POEMS. 61 THE SAINTS’ INVOCATION. Roll on thy work, Eternal God, And speed the glorious time When thy pure Gospel, spread abroad, Will gladden every clime. When burnish’d error will return To chaos, whence it came ; When truth, the lamp of life, will burn With clear, Celestial fame. When knowledge, flowing from on high, Will o’er the earth be spread, Deep-mantling as the waves that lie Upon the ocean’s bed. O, give the happy period birth, When strife and war shall cease ; When all the nations of the earth Will learn the arts of peace. When foul iniquity will hide In shame its hateful head, And wicked men no more in pride Upon the righteous tread. When all the people will be wise, And all their dealings just ; When lying tongues and envious eyes Will moulder in the dust. When Zion will be plac’d on high In bold security ; When all the watchmen, eye to eye, Upon her walls shall see. When love to God and neighbor, will Pervade each human breast ; And in the light of Zion’s hill The nations all be blest. When Zion’s lofty towers will rise Above all earthly height ; And, mingling with the joyful skies, Kclipse yon orbs of light. Propel thy glorious kingdom forth, Extend its light abroad ; Perform thy purpose on the earth, Thou great, Eternal God. POEMS. TO THE CITIZENS OF QUINCY. Ye Sons and Daughters of Benevolence, Whose hearts are tun’d to tones of sympathy ; Who have put forth the lib’ral hand to meet The urgent wants of the oppress’d and poor ! You high ton’d spirits, who have nobly dard To stem the foaming tide of vile reproach, And brave the poisnous, deadly current of Detraction and fell hate, im rescuing Oppressed innocence from the hard hand Of the oppressor ! In return for this— Though it perpetuates your city’s name, And makes the sound of Quincy echo sweet, And full of moral meaning to the soul Of every true philanthropist—you get No regal honors. No loud trump of fame Will blazon forth your deeds, except to throw A dark’ning shade upon them ; thus to aim A cruel missile at the rescued ones. No laurel branch, nor cypress bough, will wave In graceful dignity about your heads, to tell, In speechless eloquence, what you have done. No sculptur’d marble monument will rear Its head, as if in bold defiance to POEMS. The stern, untiring, withering hand of Time, To tell your name and deeds to passers by. No; we have no insignia of this kind, No medal of an earthly mould to give ; But yet, we fain would proffer you a boon Of more congenial texture ; one that’s wrought In the fine fibres of the human heart ; Not in that heart where selfishness, and mean, And coarse, and sordid feelings sit enthron’d ; And whose dull pulses are like clogs confin’d By the unwieldy chains of ignorance. For there are some, who “ privily have crept Among us unawares,” whose hearts are set On-gain, for filthy lucre’s sake ; and while We say to you, beware of such, lest they Abuse your liberality ; we say, Esteem them our misfortune, not our fault : For tares must grow among the wheat, until The time of harvest ; therefore, the upright ' Will often suffer an unjust reproach. Pure Gratitude, our free-will off'ring, is The product of an elevated mind ; When the heart beats with sensibility, Reciprocates each high-born thought, and stoops, Unask’d, to pay its deff'rence at the shrine, The sacred shrine, of Generosity. And some, yes, many spirits, such as this, We have among us—noble minded ones, Who will not swerve from those unchanging laws, The steadfast principles of righteousness— POEMS. 65 Whose firm integrity would yet remain Unmov’d, though “ mountains skip like rams, and all The little hills like lambs.” The Gratitude Which emanates from spirits such as these, Is no mean offering, neither cheaply won, Ye noble, generous-hearted citizens Of Quincy ! Quincy, Int., APRIL, 1839. HAST THOU. KNOWN SUFFERING ? ** Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.”’—Hebrew Psalmist. Hast thou ever felt oppression Bearing down with heavy hand ; Or the finger of expulsion Pushing from thy fav’rite land ; POEMS. When the laws that would befriend thee, Were laid prostrate in thy sight ; When the powers that should defend thee, Trampl’d on thy dearest right ? Hast thou ever been a stranger— Has thy lot been ever thrown Far from home, a hapless ranger, Both unknowing and unknown, When no kindly voice could cheer thee With the music of thy home, When the breezes flutt’ring near thee Whisper'd, ‘‘ Stranger, thou must roam ?” When, in spite of all the gladness Thou could’st share in others’ weal, Clouds of gloom and nights of sadness Would across thy bosom steal ? Yet, withal, in sweet submission, Could’st thou yield to banishment ; And, in every new condition, Learn therewith to be content ? When thy earthly hopes were riven, Could’st thou, meekly bowing down, Still adore the God of heaven, Saying, ‘‘ Let thy will be done ?” POEMS. BE NOT DISCOURAGED. Though deep’ning trials throng your way, Press on, press on, ye Saints of God ! Ere long the resurrection day Will spread its light and truth abroad. Though outward ills await us here, The time at longest is not long Ere Jesus Christ will re-appear, Surrounded by a glorious throng. Lift up your hearts in praise to God— Let your rejoicings never cease : Though tribulations rage abroad, Christ says, ‘‘ In me ye shall have peace.” What though our rights have been assail’d ? What though by foes we’ve been despoil’d ? Jehovah's promise has not fail’d— Jehoyah’s purpose is not foil’d. His work is moving on apace, And great events are rolling forth: The kingdom of the latter-days— The “ little stone,” must fill the earth. POEMS. 68 Though Satan rage, ‘tis all in vain— The words the ancient Prophets spoke, Sure as the throne of God remain, Nor men nor deyils can revoke. All glory to His holy name, Who sends His faithful servants forth To prove the nations—to proclaim Salvation’s tidings through the earth. O SONG OF THE EXILED SAINTS. We are far, far away from the land of our home, And, like strangers, in exile we're destin’d to roam ; While our foes are exulting to drive us abroad, Our faith is unshaken—our trust is in God, Though far from home : for we journey’d away from our country and home. POEMS. 69 We were houseless and homeless in tempest and storm, But God is our Father—we lean’d on His arm ; And beneath His protection our lives were secure, And we smil’d at the hardships we had to endure, While journeying on To a country of strangers—a land not our home. Then, then we remember’d the House of the Lord, Where the Saints met so often to feast on the Word Pour’d forth in the Spirit, sent down from on high, And our thoughts sometimes linger’d on seasons gone by, When at our home We enjoy’d with the Saints the rich blessings of home. But all those who a kingdom celestial would gain, Need not parley with danger, with trouble or pain ; For if Christ was made perfect through suff'ring, shall we ki’er expect in his presence to reign gloriously, Unless we come “* Up through great tribulation” to Zion, our home ? Thus the Former-day Saints, who were driven away, And like deer in the forest were destin’d to stray : Clad in ‘sheepskins and goatskins,” they wander'd around, Or in “ caves and in dens” a lone residence found : And should they roam, And the Latter-day Saints rest in quiet at home ? 70 POEMS. Now the Saints who are faithful and trust in the Lord, Where’er they are scatter’d, go “ preaching the Word ;” And the honest in heart the glad tidings believe, And with joy and rejoicing the Gospel receive, And seek a home With the just of all ages, when Jesus shall come. O, we long for the promis’d redemption to come, When the faithful in Jesus will all gather home From the north—from the south—from the east and the west, To partake with the ancients the great promis’d rest : And Shiloh come, And crown with his presence Mount Zion, our home. POEMS. MY OWN HOME. O tell me not of ease or fame, Or all that Mammon’s vot’ries claim ; I know their paltry worth : But let me hear the voice of home, Whether a palace, hut, or dome— There’s naught so dear on earth. Talk not to me of splendid halls, Of sumptuous feasts where folly calls For fashion’s ample fee : But talk of home's most scanty treat, Where love and pure affection meet In plain simplicity. Talk not of princely crowns to me, Or proud imperial dignity, Replete with tedious care : But talk of home’s unblazon’d things, Where virtue smiles, and wisdom sings Sweet sonnets rich and fair. O, yes, describe that parlor fire Where often sat my aged sire, And mother by his side ; POEMS. My brothers, full of native glee, My loving sisters, coy, and free I’'rom ostentatious pride. Such bonny scenes I value high: Coxcombs and belles may pass them by As things of no repute : But these are what I love to hear— "Tis sweeter music to my ear Than Tasso’s melting lute. Home, charming sound unknown to fame— Has more kind feelings in the name, Than all the studied lore That stoic brains have ever thought, Or stoic genius ever taught To all the world before. But yet, the home, the heavenly prize, Which far beyond this scenery les, Is the rich boon I crave ; And though in exile here I roam, My heart is fix’d—I have a home, Secure, beyond the grave. POEMS. 73 THE DEPARTED YEAR. In spite of all the watchfulness Of interested multitudes, In spite of all the pictur’d bliss Which fancy’s lib’ral hand intrudes, Still passing onward day by day, As light aérial coursers fly, The hasty Year has roll’d away With matchless speed : and why ? It hurried on, to hide its guilty head, By mingling with the blood-stain’d years that lie In huddl’d heaps beyond the flood. It fled, Afraid to wait the test of scrutiny. "Twas brib’d by avarice, and its hand was rais’d To pluck from Freedom’s wreath its holiest gem : It aim’d to get humanity displac’d, And bind oppression on her diadem ! The Year has gone: but hark! a sound Is deeply murm’ring round the sky— An evil genius lurks around, Ghost of the Year gone by. 74 POEMS. Beware ! foul shade, the time will come When all thy deeds will re-appear ; For justice will award the doom Of each departed Year ! JANUARY, 1840. 0 AS I BELIEVE. DEDICATED TO PRESIDENT H. C. KIMBALL. If we're faithful to live by each forthcoming word, And abide by the Prophet's dictation, And with constant humility trust in the Lord, We ere long shall behold the salvation Of God, coming forth in its glory and power, In a time of His wisdom’s own choosing : It will suddenly come: it will come in an hour When the foolish are stupidly dozing. POEMS. What boots it, though darkness encompass us round, With tradition’s shrill thunderbolts ringing, If we in obedience to Jesus are found, And are still to the “iron rod ” clinging ? If we are submissive, and willing to be Like clay in the potter’s hand moulded, Our hearts will be glad, and rejoice when we see God’s purposes fully unfolded. Though I’m ever determin’d to watch unto prayer, I’m so human—so subject to feeling, I oft on a sudden, before I’m aware, Find unhallowed thoughts o’er me stealing, And a dark-featur’d spirit, foreboding no good, O’er my bosom insensibly creeping, And twining around me a sorrowful mood, That with grace cannot be in good keeping. But I hastily bid all such spirits depart— My detector pronounces them evil : They ne'er should be suffer'd to rankle the heart— Let them go whence they came—to the devil. In whom I have trusted, I verily know: Tll confide in His goodness forever— Ill obey Him. Kternity’s records will show If my heart from His precepts can sever. God knows His own purpose: He'll finish it too, Unassisted by human advisings— He’s abundance of means, and He'll carry it through, Though vain man should be proudly despising. "Twas the faithful in Israel who bow’d down to drink Like a dog, and they scorn’d not to lap it: Every proud-fashion’d scheme will to nothingness shrink, For the power of the Priesthood will sap it. When we act for Eternity, shall we regard The ills of the present ? No, never ; But, heedless of consequence, trust in the Lord, And abide in His statutes forever ; And forever rejoice in His favor and love, Giving heed to the voice of His Spirit, Until we arrive in the mansions aboye, And the glory celestial inherit. Nauvoo, Aveust, 1842. SS POEMS. 77 TO A REVOLUTIONARY FATHER. Thou aged man! I bless thy hoary head— Blest be each vet’ran in our country’s cause : To you from persecution’s rage we've fled, To seek protection of those sacred laws— Those laws for which our noble fathers fought, Which in Missouri have been set at naught. Methinks your heart oft bleeds, while often flow The crystal tears upon your furrow’d cheek, To see those rights for which you suffer’d so, Usurp’d by those of whom I scorn to speak ; While those who should be privileg’d to share Those free-born rights, are wandering here and there. Thrust from our homes, where once we dwelt secure, Like wayward pilgrims, to your house we come ; Houseless and homeless—shelterless and poor, Beneath your kindly roof we find a home, And find a heart to Freedom’s cause yet true— Unlike Missouri’s lawless, mobbing crew. POEMS. Missouri's exiles own your friendly care, And, in the season of adversity, The orphan’s blessing and the widow’s prayer, Both morn and night, ascend to God for thee ; That thou mayst live so long as life is dear, And peace and plenty crown your closing year. And when your days are number'd here below, And you shall leave this rugged, nether soil, May you depart in peace, and may you go Where weary spirits rest secure from toil : Go, join your spirit to that noble band Who say’d our country from th’ oppressor’s hand. Quincy, InL., May, 1839. POEMS. 79 COLUMBIA! MY COUNTRY. T love the land with banner spread And waying gloriously— The country where our fathers bled To purchase Liberty. I love the land where regal lord Has never trod the soil : Where humble merit meets reward, And plenty follows toil. And when on fancy’s wings I ride To other lands afar, My thoughts return—with conscious pride I hail my country’s star. To frigid climes, through airy plains, By fancy’s skill I stray, Where Winter crown’d with night maintains A long and rigid sway. There human thought, and seas and streams Are mutually congeal’d ; And there existence almost seems With non-existence seal’d. 80 POEMS. I visit Grecia’s Turkish coast, Long, long in darkness chain’d, While superstition’s sombre ghost O’er intellect has reign’d. There female character, unfreed From bigotry’s control, Too well attests Mohammed’s creed, That ‘‘ woman has no soul.” I list to music soft and sweet Along Liberia’s shore, Where Afric’s sands salute the feet Of Afric’s sons once more. And while beneath the torrid skies, O’er burning plains I tread, And see the lofty bamboo rise, And broad banana spread, With thrilling pleasure oft I gaze Upon the scenery where The brilliant fire-fly torches blaze Upon the midnight air. To Asia’s empires widely spread, I dec’rously resort ; And with impartial def’rence tread Each high imperial court. POEMS. 81 And then with fairy speed I fly To lands of brighter fame, And Europe's prouder standards try, And F'reedom’s banner claim. But O, I find no country yet Like my Columbia dear ; And oftentimes almost forget LT live an exile here. Quinoy, Itt., 1840. O TO MR. AND MRS. 8. ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. Cease, ye fond parents, cease to weep— Let grief no more your bosoms swell : For what is death? "Tis nature’s sleep : The trump of God will break its spell ; For he, whose arm is strong to save, Arose in triumph o’er the grave. 82 Why should you sorrow? Death is sweet To those that die in Jesus’ love ; Though call’d to part, you soon will meet In holier, happier climes above ; For all the faithful Christ will save, And crown with vict’ry o'er the grave. There’s consolation in the blow, Although it crush a tender tie ; For while it lays its victims low, Death opens to the worlds on high ; Celestial glories proudly wave Above the confines of the grave. Let heathen nations clothe the tread Of death in faithless, hopeless gloom, While vain imaginations spread Terrific forms around the tomb ; For human science never gave A light to shine beyond the grave. But where the light, the glorious light Of revelation freely flows, Let reason, faith, and hope unite To hush our sorrows to repose— Through faith in Him who died to save, We'll shout hosannas o’er the grave. POEMS, TO THE SAINTS IN EUROPE. Ye Saints who dwell on Europe’s shore, Let not your hearts be faint— Let each press on to things before, And be indeed a Saint. Although the present time may seem O’erspread with clouds of gloom, The light of faith will spread a gleam, Until deliv’rance come. Hold fast the things you have receiv’d— Be faithful in the Lord: You know in whom you have believ'd— He’s faithful to His word. Your brethren in America Are one in heart with you ; And they are toiling night and day For Zion’s welfare too. They even now are driven forth To track the wilderness, And leave the country of their birth, For truth and righteousness. POEMS. But there’s a day—'tis near at hand— A day of joy and peace : That day will break oppression’s band, And bring the Saints release. Then, brethren, haste to gather up— We shall rejoice to meet ; When we have drunk the bitter cup, We'll know and prize the sweet. And even now the Lord bestows More, more than tongue can tell, Of that which from His presence flows— Yes, brethren, all is well. POEMS. TO ELDER LORENZO SNOW, LONDON, ENGLAND. Dearest brother, wherefore leave us ? Why forsake your friends and home ? Of your presence why bereave us, And in foreign countries roam ? Must the dearest ties be broken ? Must affection’s beauties fade ? No, O no! But God has spoken, And His voice must be obey’d. You have gone to warn the nations, In the name of Israel’s God You are call’d to bear salvation’s Joyful tidings far abroad. For the Gospel proclamation Must be sounded far and near, That the best of every nation May in Zion’s courts appear. In the spirit of devotion To Messiah’s glorious cause, You have cross’d the pathless ocean To proclaim redemption’s laws. You are made a standard bearer, On a distant mountain top ; And perchance ofttimes a sharer In privation’s bitter cup. For the Lord designs to prove you, If His voice you will obey : Therefore from your friends who love you, You are parted far away. You are call’d yourself to sever From the land where kindred dwell ; But it will not be forever— Time will surely break the spell. Here warm friends await your greeting— Noble friends of Abr’am’s line : Here are gentle pulses beating In soft unison with thine. Here are daily prayers ascending For th’ appointed hour to come, When, your mission nobly ending, We shall bid you welcome home. POEMS. 87 THE NAUVOO LEGION. The firm heart of the sage and the patriot is warm’d By the grand Nauvoo Legion. The Legion is form’d To oppose vile oppression, and nobly to stand In defence of the honor and laws of the land. Base, illegal proscribers may tremble—'tis right That the lawless aggressor should shrink with affright From a band that’s united fell mobbers to chase, And protect our lov’d country from utter disgrace. Fair Columbia, rejoice—look away to the West, To thy own Illinois, where the Saints have found rest : See a pheenix come forth from the graves of the just, Whom Missouri's oppressors laid low in the dust : See a phceenix—a Legion—a warm-hearted band, Who, unmov'd, to thy basis of freedom will stand. When the day of vexation rolls fearfully on— When thy children turn traitors—when safety is gone— When peace in thy borders no longer is found— When the fierce battles rage and the war-trumpets . sound, Here, here are thy warriors, a true-hearted band— To their country’s best int’rest forever will stand : For then to thy standard the Legion will be A strong bulwark of Freedom—of pure Liberty. POEMS. Here’s the silver-hair’d vet’ran who suffer’d to gain That freedom he now volunteers to maintain ; The brave, gallant young soldier—the patriot, is here, With his sword and his buckler, his helmet and spear ; And the horseman whose steed proudly steps to the sound Of the soul-stirring music that’s moving around ; And here too is the orphan whose spirit grows brave At the mention of ‘‘ Boggs,” and his own father’s grave ; Yes, and bold-hearted chieftains as ever drew breath, Who are fearless of danger—regardless of death ; Who've decreed in the name of the Ruler on high That the laws shall be honor’d—that treason shall die. Should they need reinforcements, those Rights to secure, Which our forefathers purchas’d, and freedom insure, There is still in reserve a strong cohort above— Lo! ‘the chariots of Israel and horsemen thereof.” - POEMS. QUEEN VICTORIA. The following lines were suggested by the circumstance of the present- ation of the Book of Mormon to Her Majesty Queen Victoria and His Royal Highness Prince Albert, by Elder L. Snow, through the politeness of Sir Henry Wheatley, in 1842. Of all the monarchs of the earth That wear the robes of royalty, She has inherited by birth The broadest wreath of majesty. From her wide territorial wing The sun does not withdraw its light, While earth’s diurnal motions bring To other nations day and night. All earthly thrones are tott’ring things, Where lights and shadows intervene ; And regal honor often brings The scaffold or the guillotine. But still her sceptre is approv’'d— All nations deck the wreath she wears ; Yet, like the youth whom Jesus lov’d, One thing is lacking even there. SSS SS See 90 POEMS. But lo! a prize possessing more Of worth than gems with honor rife— A herald of salvation bore To her the words of endless life. That gift, however fools deride, Is worthy of her royal care : She’d better lay her crown aside Than spurn the light reflected there. O would she now her influence lend— The influence of royalty, Messiah’s kingdom to extend, And Zion’s ‘‘ nursing mother” be ; She, with the glory of her name Inscrib’d on Zion’s lofty spire, Would win a wreath of endless fame, To last when other wreaths expire. Though over millions call’d to reign— Herself a powerful nation’s boast, "Twould be her everlasting gain To serve the King, the Lord of Hosts. For there are crowns and thrones on high, And kingdoms there to be conferr’d ; There honors wait that never die, There fame’s immortal trump is heard. Truth speaks—it is Jehovah’s word : Let kings and queens and princes hear : In distant isles the sound is heard— Ye heavens, rejoice ; O earth, give ear. The time, the time is now at hand To give a glorious period birth— The Son of God will take command, And rule the nations of the earth. O THE TEMPLE OF GOD. Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me: and the Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple, even the messenger of the covenant, whom ye delight in: behold, he shall come, saith the Lord of Hosts. But who may abide the day of his coming? and who shall stand when he appeareth ?>— Malachi. Lo! the Savior is coming, the Prophets declare— The times are fulfilling, O Zion, prepare : The Savior is coming: but where shall he come? Will he find in the palace of princes a home ? 92 POEMS. No: O no, in his Temple he'll surely attend— But, O where is the Temple where Christ will descend? |. Since the ancient Apostles and Christians are dead, The heavens have been seal’d—they are brass o’er the head Of a world of professors, presuming to claim A belief in the Gospel of Jesus’ blest name ; Who profess to believe it, yet boldly deny Its most prominent feature, the gifts from on high ; And deny that the word of the Lord should come forth, As it anciently did, to the Saints upon earth. Then to whom shall Jehovah His purpose declare ? And by whom shall the people be taught to prepare For the coming of Jesus—a ‘Temple to build, That the ancient predictions may all be fulfill’d ? When Moses of old was appointed to rear A place where the glory of God should appear, He receiv’d at the hand of the high King of kings A true model—a pattern of heavenly things. The eternal Jehovah will not condescend His wisdom with human inventions to blend ; And a Temple—a House to the name of the Lord, Must be built by commandment, and form’d to His word, Or He will not accept it, nor angels come down In the light of His presence the service to crown. O, then, who upon earth uninstructed will dare Build a house to the Lord? But the Scriptures declare POEMS. That Messiah is coming—the time’s drawing nigh: Hark! a scheme is divulg’d, ‘twas concerted on high : With divine revelation the Saints have been blest— Every doubt has subsided—the mind is at rest. The Great God has establish’d in mercy and grace, The “strange work” that precedes the concluding of days— The pure Gospel of Jesus again is restor’d ; By its power, through the Prophet, the word of the Lord Is again coming forth, and intelligence rolls From the upper eternity, cheering our souls. “« Build a house to my name,” the Eternal has said To a people by truth’s holy principles led. “ Build a house to my name, where my Saints may be blest, Where my glory and power shall in majesty rest.” O, ye Saints, be admonish’d by Time’s rolling car : It is rapidly onward. Hear, ye from afar! Come and bring in your treasures—your wealth from abroad : Come and build up the City and Temple of God. When you gather to Zion, come not “ looking back” — Let your hearts not be faint, let your hands not be slack, For great honor and glory and grace and renown Will appear on their heads whom the Savior will crown : And the Savior is coming the Prophets declare— The times are fulfilling—to Zion repair ; ‘Let us watch and be sober,” the period is near When the Lord in His Temple will surely appear. MISSOURL What aileth thee, O Missouri, that thy face should gather blackness: and why are thy features so terribly distorted ? Rottenness has seized upon thy vitals—corruption is preying upon thy inward parts, and the breath of thy lips is full of destructive contagion. What meaneth thy shaking, and why art thou ter- rified ? Thou hast become like Belshazzar—‘ Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin,” is indeed written against thee ; but it is the work of thy own hand—the characters upon thy wall are of thine own inscription, and where- fore dost thou tremble ? Wouldst thou know the interpretation thereof ? Hast thou sought for a Daniel to declare it unto thee ? POEMS. Verily one greater than Daniel was in thy midst; but thou hast butchered the Saints of the Most High, and hunted the Prophets like Ahab of old. Thou hast extinguished the light of thy own glory— thou hast plucked from thy head the crown of honor— thou hast divested thyself of the robe of respectability —thou hast thrust from thy own bosom the veins that flowed with virtue and integrity. Thou hast violated the laws of our sacred Consti- tution — thou hast unsheathed the sword against thy dearest national Rights, by rising up against thy own citizens, and moistening thy soil with the blood of those that legally inherited it. When thou hadst torn from helpless innocence its rightful protectors, thou didst pollute the holy sanc- tuary of female virtue, and barbarously trample upon the most sacred gems of domestic felicity ! Therefore the daughters of Columbia count thee a reproach, and blush with indignation at the mention of thy name. Thou hast become an ignominious stain on the es- cutcheon of a noble, free, and independent Republic— thou art a stink in the nostrils of the goddess of Liberty. Thou art fallen—thou art fallen beneath the weight of thine own unhallowed deeds, and thine iniquities are pressing as a heavy load upon thee. But although thy glory has departed—though thou hast gone down like a star that has set forever; thy memory will not be erased—thou wilt be had in remem- brance, even until the Saints of God shall forget that the 96 POEMS, way to the celestial kingdom is ‘“ through great tribula- tion.” Though thou shouldst be severed from the body of the Union, like a mortified member—though the lion from the thicket should devour thee up, thy doings will be perpetuated—mention will be made of them by the generations to come. Thou art already associated with Herod, Nero, and the ‘ bloody Inquisition *—thy name has become syno- nymous with oppression, cruelty, treachery, and blood. Thou wilt rank high with the haters of righteous- ness, and the shedders of innocent blood. The hosts of tyrants are waiting beneath to meet thee at thy coming. O, ye wise Legislators, ye Executives of the Nation, ye Distributors of Justice, ye Advocates of Equal Rights! arise and redress the wrongs of an innocent people, and redeem the Cause of insulted Liberty. Let not the contagious spirit of corruption wither the sacred wreath that encircles you, and spread a cloud of darkness over the glory of your star-spangled banner. Lest the monarchs of the earth should have you in derision, lest you should be weighed in the balance with the heathen nations, and should be found wanting. Lest the arm of the Lord should be revealed in judg- ment against you—lest an arrow of vengeance from the Almighty should pierce the rotten fabric of a once shel- tering Constitution, and your boasted Confederacy be- come like an oak dismembered of its branches, when its shattered trunk is torn piecemeal by the uprising of the furious tempest. | POEMS. 97 For the cries of the widow and the fatherless, the groans of the oppressed, and the prayers of the suffering exile have come up before the Lord God of Hosts, who brought our pilgrim fathers across the boisterous ocean, and raised up a Washington to break the yoke of foreign oppression. City or Nauvoo, 1842. O TO A SCOTTISH MAIDEN. Far from the braes of Scotland, Your ocean-wave wash’d isle ; Far from your father’s dwelling, And your fond mother’s smile ; Far from the crystal fountains, The highland glen and glade, O’er which in early childhood Your sportive fancy stray’d. Though far from home and parents, Young maiden, all is well ; Yours is the better portion, Among the Saints to dwell. The mighty God of Jacob Has chosen you to stand, The first of all your kindred, Upon the promis’d land. And if you will be faithful To do His righteous will, You yet shall be a Savior On Zion’s holy hill: And there the ties of nature Will constitute a chain To gather your connexion, And form a noble train. Then fear not persecution, Nor any human ill ; All things will work together God's purpose to fulfil. This is a day of trial— A day of sacrifice ; But up, through tribulation The righteous will arise. & . Then, maiden, O be humble, And put your trust in God, POEMS. - That you may dwell in safety When judgments spread abroad. O may the Holy Spirit Dwell richly in your breast, And guide you to inherit The great celestial rest. > Like the figures incog., in a masquerade scene, Are some spirits now dwelling on earth ; And we judge of them only by actions and mien, Unappriz’d of all relative worth. In the transforming mask of mortality clad, Kings and princes and peasants appear ; All forgetting whatever acquaintance they had In existence preceding this here. When the past shall develop, the future unfold, When the present its sequel shall tell— When unmask’d we shall know, be beheld, and behold; O how blest, if incog. we've done well. | TO MRS. HAYWOOD. ON THE DEATH OF THE DEARLY BELOVED AND MUCH LAMENTED FATHER IN ISRAEL, JOSEPH SMITH, SEN., Patriarch over the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Wuo Diep at NAvuvoo, SepremMBER 1|4ru, 1840. Zion’s noblest Sons are weeping ! See her daughters bath’d in tears, Where the Patriarch is sleeping Nature’s sleep, the sleep of years ! Hush'd is every note of gladness— Every minstrel bows full low, Every heart is tun’d to sadness, Every bosom feels the blow. Zion’s children lov’d him dearly ; Zion was his daily care : That his loss is felt sincerely, Thousand weeping Saints declare : Thousands who have shar’d his blessing— Thousands whom his service blest, By his faith and prayers suppressing Evils which their lives opprest. POEMS. 101 Faith and works divinely blended Prov'd his steadfast heart sincere ; And the power of God attended His official labors here : Long he stemm’d the powers of darkness, Like an anchor in the flood— Like an oak amid the tempest, Bold and fearlessly he stood. Years have witness’d his devotions, By the love of God inspir’d ; When his spirit’s pure emotions Were with holy ardor fir’d. Oft he wept for suffring Zion— All her sorrows were his own : When she pass’d through grievous trials, Her oppressions weigh’d him down. Now he’s gone—we’d not recall him From a paradise of bliss, Where no evil can befall him, To a changing world like this. His lov’d name will never perish, Or his memory crown the dust, For the Saints of God will cherish The remembrance of the just. Faith’s sweet voice of consolation Soothes our grief. His spirit ’s flown Upward to a holier station— Nearer the celestial throne : There to plead the cause of Zion In the Councils of the just— In the Court the Saints rely on, Pending Causes to adjust. Though his earthly part is sleeping Lowly ‘neath the prairie sod, Soon the grave will yield its keeping— Yield to life the man of God: When the heavens and earth are shaken, When all things shall be restor’d, When the trump of God shall waken Those that sleep in Christ the Lord. ON THE DEATH OF BRIGADIER-GENERAL DON CARLOS SMITH, . Wuo Diep Aveust 7TH, 1841. “Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain.” Th’ insatiate archer, Death, once more Has bath’d his shaft in human gore! The pale-fac’d monarch’s crimson’d bow Once more has laid a good man low! If tears of love could ever save A noble victim from the grave ; If strong affection e’er had power To rescue in the dying hour ; If kindred sympathy could hold A jewel in its sacred fold ; If friendship could produce a charm The heartless tyrant to disarm ; If wide acknowledg’d worth could be A screen from mortal destiny ; . 104 POEMS. If pure integrity of heart Could baffle death’s malignant dart ; If usefulness and noble zeal, Devotedness to Zion’s weal, A conduct grac’d with purpos’d aim, A reputation free from blame ; Could save a mortal from the tomb, And stamp with an eternal bloom, He never would have bow’'d to death, Or yielded up his mortal breath. Ours is the sorrow, ours the loss ! For through the triumphs of the Cross, His noble part, by death set free, On wings of immortality, Tracing the steps the Savior trod, Has reach’d the Paradise of God. There he rejoins the ransom’d choir ; There, there he hails his noble sire, First Patriarch of these latter days, Whose goodness memory loves to trace With reverence, gratitude, and love : He left us for the courts above. There, with “ the spirits of the just,” Where Zion’s welfare is discuss’d, Once more their kindred spirits join, Once more their efforts to combine In Zion’s cause. And shall we mourn For those who have been upward borne ? POEMS. 105 And shall the ‘‘ Legion’s ” sorrow flow As though a Chieftain were laid low, Who threw his frail escutcheons by To join the Legions form’d on high? Yes, mourn: the loss is great to earth— A loss of high, exalted worth! O THE FUNERAL OF BRIGADIER-GENERAL DON CARLOS SMITH. It was a Sabbath day. The morning came, But came not with the usual joyousness With which the consecrated day was wont, In Nauvoo city, ever and anon, To usher its broad radiance on a train Of humble, cheerful worshippers. Nature Seem’d conscious of the mournful knell That broke upon the sadden’d heart of man ! POEMS. The sun arose, muffl’d with clouds that hid His own bright beams, and in effusions, soft And gentle as the soothing, feeling tones Of sorrow, dropt a sympathetic tear. At length the clouds dispers’d, the sun pour'd forth His glorious rays in brilliant majesty ; And I beheld upon the beauteous plain That fronts the noble Mississippi's wave, A mighty host—a powerful warrior band, Whose rich escutcheons glitter’d in the sun. I heard the sound of martial music, but It came with solemn, slow, and mournful air, Unlike the bold and thrilling notes that call The restless warrior to the battle field. There was no clash of arms, no din of war ; The sword was sheath’d, and every martial brow Was mellow’d into sadness! Mounted high Upon a fiery steed, a Chieftain sat And issued the command; and then, anon, In double file—in open columns form’d, With Chieftains in the front—then horse and foot, In solemn order, mov’d across the wide Extended plain, the Nauvoo Legion. “T'was A splendid sight—a sight that would have charm’d The eye of each beholder ; but alas ! That grand display was the last honors paid To the departed ! In the Legion’s rear, ewe a, AE | 107 Still length’ning out the vast procession, walk’d A crowd of citizens of every rank, Of either sex ; and last of all, clos’d in A long and glitt’ring train of carriages. I gaz’d upon the grand procession, till It disappear’d amid the dwellings which Stand thickly cluster’d near the river’s edge. I listen’d! All was still—the music notes No longer sounded on the pensive breeze : But hark! the notes awaken’d, and I saw The mighty host returning with the same Slow, melancholy tread! A hearse was borne Along with solemn yet bold martial pomp, That plainly signified a mighty one, One of no ordinary rank, had fallen ! Near to the summit of an eminence, Rising in bold relief, to dignify The beauty of the verdant plain beneath : In Nature’s temple, with no other wall Than the horizon, and no other arch Than the broad canopy of heaven; shaded With clust’ring boughs, whose foliage waves around, Ts rais’d an altar to the living God. There the procession march’d ; it halted there, | And in the front of weeping relatives, The hearse of him was plac’d, who there in life Had been a fervent, constant worshipper. ll POEMS. His arms and armor on his coffin lay, And other swords than his lay crossing there. His brother Officers, who form’d with him The noblest military staff our fair Columbia has to boast, were seated by, In shining armor clad: but ah! they seem’d Divested of the martial haughtiness— That warlike pride that fires the warrior’s eye— It lay conceal’d beneath the brow of grief. The invocation and the sacred chant Open’d the solemn service of the day ; And then the man of God arose. In tones Of truth’s impassion’d eloquence, he spoke Of the late sad occurrence, which had touch’d The hearts of all, and universally Was calling forth a “ fellowship of grief ”°— Each soldier mourn’d a General, each Saint A brother, and each citizen a friend ! But when he came to paint the glories of The world to come, wrapt in the visions of Eternal truth, e’en grief itself bow'd down, And the vast multitude, for once, forgot To weep. And then he sweetly dwelt upon The character of the deceas’d, without A stain ; his Christian life, that seem’d without A blemish ; and his military course, A path of honor. Though he had not stood Before the cannon’s mouth—although he ne’er POEMS. Had been in battle’s front, amid the rage Of war and clash of arms ; and although now He'd fallen according to the common course Of Providence, and had not perish’d by The sword ; he was no less a patriot— He lov’d his country—he’d prepar’d himself, By stepping high in military rank, To do her service at her earliest call. And then the chaplain spoke of him in the Retir’d relations of domestic life. There sat his aged, widow’d mother, whom He'd honor’d with most filial sanctity— To whom he’d been a constant solace in Those scenes of persecution and distress Which she had suffer’d for the Gospel’s sake. While as a brother he had ever prov’d Firm as Gibraltar’s rock—true unto death. And then he came still nearer home, and touch’d The finest fibre of the human heart ; And spoke of her, the lonely widow of The noble, fallen Chieftain—the bereft Companion of his bosom, whom he’d low’d With faithful tenderness. Ah! who can now Enter the halo of her feelings—soothe her grief For him who only could reciprocate Her bosom’s sympathies? He, too, had been A loving and indulgent father to Her lovely weeping babes, left fatherless ! To soothe the bleeding heart, the speaker then Spoke of the blest reunion that awaits 110 POEMS. The faithful worshippers of the Most High. Thus clos’d the man of God. The service done, Again the great procession form’d, and once Again the bearers took the silent pall, And bore it onward to the ‘‘ narrow house !” Then came the parting scenery, that clos’d The service of the living to the dead. Whether the olive branch, the cypress bough, Or myrtle wreath, it matters not: ‘twas given As the last token of profound respect, Emblem of friendship, of eternal life. The ‘‘ Legion” one by one deposited Within the grave a green, unwither’d bough, And passing onward, left the trophied urn ! A voice was heard slowly pronouncing, ‘‘ Harth To earth—ashes to ashes—dust to dust— Return this body to its mother earth ;” While on the coffin fell the parted clod. Beside the grave, the Legion’s playing Band Awoke Melodia’s sweetest strain. A chord Was touch'd that echoed music to the springs Of life, and fell as soft upon the ear As if seraphic harpers had come down To charm the sleeper in his lowly rest. POEMS. The music ceas’d ; another chaplain’s voice With heavenly eloquence pour’d forth in prayer To the Eternal God; responding pass’d From heart to heart of the vast multitude, The mourning concourse in the burial grove. And there, beneath Time’s monument—the oak, Whose umbrage way’d luxuriant to the breeze, They left the shrouded, buried corse of one Belov’d in life and “ honor’d in his death ;” Waiting the trump of God, to call it forth To hail its own bright spirit from the skies ! IN FOUR PARTS. First—Invocation of the Muse. Seconp— Response of the Muse. Tuirp—Echo, addressing Friendship. Fourta—Friendship’s Reply. PART FIRST. Invocation of the Muse. Slumb’ring Muse, can aught inspire thee With Parnassus’ fabl’d fire ? Aught with theme of song can fire thee, Or attune thy unstrung lyre ? Is there aught can break thy slumbers— Chase inertia from thy soul, On thy harp bid attic numbers In spontaneous currents roll ? 112 POEMS. TWILIGHT IMAGININGS. While the even-tide flows near ; While the stilly. scene enhances Recollection’s widening sphere ; ! While the twilight brown advances ; POEMS. 113 While yon peerless orb is shining Dimly through night’s gathering shade ; While the dew-drops are refining Plenteous nectar o’er the glade ; While earth’s care-worn sons, retiring, Ponder o’er their loss and gain, Happy only in acquiring, And by losses measure pain ; While gay Pleasure’s children loiter, Reckless of the hours of rest ; While affliction’s sons and daughters Groan, with wretchedness opprest ; While the city bustle ceases ; While its lattice-glimmerings fade ; While the nightly breeze increases Music in the rural glade ; While the scenery ’s fondly aiding Contemplation’s latent power ; While soft silence is pervading, Like a charm, the Muses’ bower ; While the holiest thoughts invite thee, Muse, awake a favorite strain : Friendship’s theme—can that delight thee ? Say, was friendship made in vain ? POEMS. | PART SECOND. Response of the Muse. I awake, I awake to the hallowed sound When the name of Friendship is echoing round : "Tis a genial sound that is wont to inspire The sweetest notes of my earliest lyre ; For O, ’tis a treasure kindly given To atone for the loss of an absent heaven : And amid the perplexing scenes of earth, ‘Tis a precious boon of eternal worth ; For oft has its music hush'd to rest The lab'ring grief of the throbbing breast ; And oft its efficient skill will impart A specific draught to the wounded heart. ‘Tis a silken shackle that often binds In unconscious fetters congenial minds, And so nicely muffl’d that they only seem Like a yielding wave of the limpid stream. It was friendship too that boldly stood In the upper seat of the court of God. "Twas a cherub then, and they call’d it love, For it brought the Messiah from above ; Who, mov'd by its impulse, mark’d the way From this nether sphere to the realms of day, —[—_—_—_ POEMS. 115 That earth’s degen’rate sons may rise High, high o’er the acme that crowns our skies ; And, leaving ign’rance’ shades behind, | Bask full in the blaze of Eternal Mind. Yes, friendship ’s a sacred, a holy thing, Of which angel-minstrels love to sing ; And its potent unction benignly imparts An extatic thrill to seraphic hearts. But hark ! sweet music salutes my ear! Are the heavenly minstrels gathering near ? ‘List, list to the strains of the choir from on hich, And catch the sweet echo that is passing by. PATI vHLRD: Echo, addressing Friendship. Spirit of Love, O whither Hast thou been wand'ring forth ? Say, dost thou find a resting-place Among the sons of earth ? Amid the incongruities Of that low fallen sphere, Say, dost thou meet the fond embrace That is thy birth-right here ? Oh 116 POEMS. In that dark vale of sorrow— Of trouble, toil, and care, Say, canst thou find a genial heart Thy blandishments to share ? Amid the deep perplexities With human life entwin’d, Say, hast thou found a willing band, With thy soft chain to bind ? Amid the rude commotions, The tossings to and fro, Say, canst thou find a sure abode In all the world below ? "Mid all its wild absurdities, Hast thou one laurel found— One gem of magnanimity, To decorate thy crown ? PART FOURTH. Friendship’s Reply. Fair sons of light, that little world se which I.often roam, Vas from th’ Eternal presence hurl d, nee is no more my home. POEMS. 117 Yet many noble spirits there, Are scatter'd up and down ; And many who, my wreath to wear, Would yield a sceptred crown. Some of a high celestial birth, And heirs of endless day, Who well appreciate my worth, And proudly own my sway : And while their brief existence fills, Like brilliant stars they shine, And rise superior to the ills That round their path entwine. While others spurn my proffer’d hand, Extended but to bless, And scorn the measures I command To ease their wretchedness. The warmth that from my vitals springs For Adam’s num Yous race, Prompts me to spread my downy wings Far from my native place. For them I search’d the highest heaven, And from His bosom brought God’s only Son, the ransom given, Which man’s redemption wrought ; 118 POEMS. That man hereafter may again Possess the blest abode Where I forever shall remain Amid the smiles of God. ON THE DEATH OF ELDER LORENZO D. BARNES, Wuo Diep WHILE ON A MISSION TO ENGLAND. Ah! has he gone? And did he die upon A stranger land? Yes, far away from home. He'd gone across the proud Atlantic’s wave, And left behind his kindred and his friends, Bound by association’s strongest spell, Wrought in the sceneries of early youth. Why did he go? The Gospel was his theme, And with salvation’s tidings on his tongue, And with its genial influence in his heart ; POEMS. He cross’d the ocean to extend the light Of heavenly vision, which the servants of The Lord, by recent revelation, as In ancient days, had borne to distant climes. A trans-Atlantic bard has sung his name In sweetest strains: but yet a tribute waits His mem’ry here—here in his native land, Where men, by long acquaintance, prov’d his worth To be like gems of never-fading hue, That deck the wreath where friendship has his name And character indelibly inscrib’d, Where thousands who have known him will respond— His is a mem’ry that will never die. DEATH OF W. H. HARRISON, President of the United States of America. Now to his ashes, honor—peace be with him, And choirs of angels sing him to his rest. Why flows that strain of deep-ton’d sympathy ? Columbia mourns a great calamity ! What is that sorrow? “Tis a country’s grief: Earth’s favor’d nation mourns her highest chief, Who, like the morning, only usher’d forth, Then disappear’d, to shine no more on earth. Our country’s genius, ever wont to soar, Has never bow’d to grief like this before : "Tis true she mourn’d a fav’rite Washington, Her first-born Chieftain ; and a Madison, Monroe, and Adams, and a Jefferson ; But their high offices were re-supplied— They left the Halls of Congress ere they died : They clos’d their services, and had retir‘d, And in retirement’s soft repose expir’d. But this bereavement comes with heavier tread, And from the nation takes her acting head, POEMS. Whom a free people’s suffrage plac’d on high To guide her helm beneath a threat’ning sky : Death aim’d an arrow at her highest trust, And laid the choice of millions in the dust, Spread wither’d hopes and palsied prospects round, And into sorrow chang'd the festive sound ! Columbia’s willows now are bending low, Our country’s tears in liberal torrents flow. Weep, weep, Columbia, tears will grace thee now, While grief lies heavy on thy aching brow ; Well may thy children now unite to spread A wreath of sorrow o’er the Hero's head— Umite to mourn our country’s chieftain gone— The honor’d, lov’d, lamented Harrison ; And bow submissive ‘neath the chastening rod, And humbly own the mighty hand of God. Nauvoo, May, 1841. 122 POEMS. TO HIS EXCELLENCY GOVERNOR CARLIN. Ofttimes beneath the banner spread By Freedom’s hand abroad, We’ve seen oppression’s murd rous tread, And felt its iron rod ; And therefore in the threat’ning hour We claim from thee protection’s power. But who, ah! who can understand, But those that chance to feel, Why, in this free republic land, We tender an appeal ? Alas! that threats should jeopardize Those sacred rights that freemen prize. A lady-suppliant was there, And there prepar'd her plea— Your Excellency heard her prayer With cordiality ; And said, ‘‘ Whatever may betide, Our country’s laws shall be your guide.” Your manner with much frankness grac’d, Your converse rife with sense, POEMS. Could not commingle feelings bas’d Upon a false pretence— Your gen’rous conduct seem’d the part That ’s prompted by an honest heart. Full many jewels are misplac’d On what they ne’er adorn, Full oft is friendship given to waste Without a due return : It will not, cannot, sir, be thus With what you've kindly proffer'd us. The path of legal rectitude You purpose to pursue, Will unto ws with peace be strew'd, With honor unto you ; And may Jehovah blessings shed Of sacred worth upon your head. And may your household too be blest : On your companion fair, May rich abundant blessings rest, And on her tender care— That flower that wakes your mutual pride— The little prattler by her side. Blest be your daughter ; in her face And her soft graceful air, ~ A happy union we could trace Of worth and beauty there— 124 POEMS. A union haply made to form A pleasing and enduring charm. You to your children may bequeath The art of doing good ; And win a never-fading wreath— The wreath of Gratitude ; "Twill prove a gem to deck your name, Above the price of gory fame. Previously to the close of Governor Carlin’s administration, the Author accompanied Mrs. Smith on a visit, the purport of which was to present a Petition, and solicit the protection of His Excellency for her husband, General J. Smith, and the inhabitants of Nauvoo. Soon after their return the foregoing Poem was written as a due expression of gratitude and re- spect. But his subsequent conduct proved his professions of friendship and assurances of protection to be false; for it appeared that at the time of the above-mentioned visit, he was secretly co-operating with Missouri against General Smith. Fortunately, his movements so soon proved the tribute unmerited, that the article was not published. We now insert it as a specimen of the double-dealing policy of the times. POEMS. RIOTS IN CONGRESS. Hush! hush! lest the monarchs of Europe hear The heart-sick’ning sound that salutes the ear ! For wherefore should haughty tyrants know That republican dignity ’s sinking low ? O, where have the noble spirits gone ? O, where is the glory our fathers won ? And where are the sages that used to feel For the nation’s honor, the nation’s weal ? What! Riots in Congress? Can it be, In a country renown'd for its liberty, That the highest departments of State are rife With low-minded jargon and boyish strife ? When the head is sick the whole heart is faint, And a spreading disease must produce complaint : There ’s no wonder then at the public tone— The head is disorder’d, the people groan. Ah! “ Riots in Congress!” Is it not On our nation’s escutcheon a deep, foul blot ? Yes, the standard of Freedom has been disgrac’d With a dark-ting’d stain that cannot be eras’d ! POEMS. Is there, who will attend to the people’s cause ? Is there, who will administer rights and laws ? Men are fooling in Congress, while freemen roam In their own native country, thrust from home ! Now, we've “ riots in Congress ;” not only there, But riots are spreading everywhere ; And the Union soon will be made to know That her sanction of mobbing has brought her low. O, where have the shades of our fathers gone ? O, where is the spirit of Washington ? Is this the proud climax of Liberty? And are these the rich blessings of being free ? Nauvoo, May, 1844. POEMS. THE KIDNAPPING OF LIEUTENANT-GENERAL JOSEPH SMITH, ON THE 23RD oF JUNE, 1842, By Reynolds, the Sheriff of Jackson County, Mo., and Wilson, of Carthage, Hancock County, Til. Like blood-hounds fiercely prowling, With pistols ready drawn, , With oaths like tempests howling, These kidnappers came on. He bared his breast before them ; But as they hurried near, A fearfulness came o’er them— It was the coward’s fear. Well might their dark souls wither When he their courage dared— Their pity fled, O whither, When he his bosom bared ? ‘‘ Death has to me no terrors,” He said, ‘‘ I hate a life So subject to the horrors Of your ungodly strife. “What means your savage conduct ? Have you a lawful Writ ? To any LEGAL process I cheerfully submit.” 128 POEMS. i} ‘‘ Here,” said these lawless ruffians, “Ts our authority ;” And drew their pistols nearer, With rude ferocity. With more than savage wildness— Like hungry beasts of prey, They bore, in all his mildness, The man of God away ! With brutish haste they tore him From her he loves so well ; And far away they bore him, With scarce the word farewell. Their hearts are seats where blindness O’er foul corruption reigns, The milk of human kindness Flows not within their veins. Their conduct was unworthy The meanest race of men : ‘Twould better fit the tiger Emerging from its den. Missouri, O Missouri, You thus prolong your shame, By sending such as Reynolds Abroad to bear your name. Could Jackson County furnish No tamer thing than he ? Must legal office burnish Such wild barbarity ? Go search the rudest forests, The panther and the bear As well would grace your suffrage— As well deserve a share. Then might the heartless Wilson, Thy shame, O Illinois ! Become confed'rate with them, And teach them to destroy. So much ferocious nature Should join the brutish clan ; And not disgrace the features That claim to be of man. But hear it, O Missouri, Once more the Prophet ’s free— Your ill-directed fury Brings forth a jubilee. 130 POEMS. JUBILEE SONG, Sung at a Feast given by General Smith and Lady to a party of friends, in commemoration of his triumphant release from his enemies. That deed, that time, we celebrate, Most dear to Liberty, When the Official powers of State | Pronounc’d the Prophet free. Chorus. When foul oppression’s hand was stay’d, A feast of Liberty The Prophet and his Lady made To crown the Jubilee. "Twas once no subject, theme of song, For righteous men to gain Those rights that legally belong To every honest swain. Chorus—W hen foul oppression’s, &e. But now our fed’ral Court has done A deed deserving praise. There's something “ new beneath the sun ” In these the latter days. Chorus—W hen foul oppression’s, &c. POEMS. 131 Though freedom weeps o'er many a blot, Still here she lifts her spires ; And here has champions who are not Unworthy of their sires. Chorus—When foul oppression’s, &c. | Protection’s wreath again may bloom, | Renew'd by Thomas Ford, Which under Carlin had become Like Jonah’s wither’d gourd. Chorus—When foul oppression’s, &c. | Like Freedom’s true and genuine son, Oppression to destroy, His Excellency has begun To govern Illinois. Chorus—When foul oppression’s, &c. That justice in our righteous cause By those that stand in power, Does honor to our country’s laws, In this degen 'rate hour. Chorus—When foul oppression’s, &c. And while we give our feelings scope, And gratitude award To Edwards, Butterfield, and Pope, We'll not forget the Lord. Chorus—W hen foul oppression's, &c. 132 | POEMS. To execute those equal laws, And break the chain that binds. Chorus—When foul oppression’s, &¢ HKlijah’s God—we'll praise His name, And own His mighty hand, Who brings His people’s foes to shame In this republic land. Chorus—When foul oppression’s, &c. Though wicked men should rage and scoff, Though earth and hell oppose, The Lord will bear His Prophet off Triumphant o’er his foes. Chorus—When foul oppression’s, &c. The Lord, who guides His Prophet's cause, Inspir'd those rulers’ minds POEMS, 133 TO HE KNOWS WHO. You have found a seclusion, a lone solitude, Where your foes cannot find you, where friends can't intrude ; In its beauty and wildness, by nature design’d A retreat from the tumult of all human kind ; And estrang’d from society—how do you fare ? May the God of our forefathers comfort you there. It is hard to be exil’d, but be of good cheer ; You are destin’d to triumph! Then, like a chas’d deer, Hide yourself in the forest, secure from the blast, Awhile, till the storm of their fury is past, For your foes are pursuing and hunting you still— May the God of our forefathers screen you from ill. 134 POEMS. YOUR PORTRAIT. You have left us your portrait, a product of art: "Tis a specimen neatly refin’d ; But ‘tis only a picture, for where is the heart ? And O where that rich jewel, the mind? It is only a picture, for where is the speech, That most noble conductor of thought, With which you are gifted the nations to teach, And through which we delight to be taught ? While we look at your portrait and see it inclos'd In its frame, like a prisoner bound, We reflect—its original thus is expos’d To the bondage of foes all around. O how strange, in this boasted republican land, Where all claim to be happy and free, That a Prophet of God is forbidden to stand, And is fore’d like a culprit to flee ! ‘Tis a sad “ restitution,” but ‘all things” must come ; It was thus with the Prophets of old. But though you are absent and far from your home, * Here’s your portrait your friends may behold. City or Nauvoo, Aveust, 1842. POEMS. O God, thou God that rules on high, Bow down thine ear to me : Listen, O listen to my cry— O hear my fervent plea. Rebuke the heartless, wicked clan That seek thy servant's harm : Protect him from the power of man, By thy Almighty arm. Let unseen watchmen wait around To shield thy servant’s head : Let all his enemies be found SUPPLICATION. Caught in the net they spread. Thy grace, like morning dews distill’d, To all his needs apply ; And let his upright heart be fill’d . With comfort from on high. The work is thine—thy promise sure, Though earth and hell oppose : Roll, roll it on, but O, secure Thy Prophet from his foes. O hide him in thy secret hold, When on his path they tread, Safe as Elijah, who of old Was by the ravens fed. Bring our accusers’ deeds to light, And give thy people rest— Eternal God, gird on thy might And succour the opprest. TO THE SAINTS. Awake! ye Saints of God, awake ! Call on the Lord in mighty prayer, That He will Zion’s bondage break, And bring to naught the fowler’s snare. He will regard His people’s cry— The widow’s tear, the orphan’s moan ; The blood of those that slaughter'd lie, Pleads not in vain before His throne. POEMS. Though Zion’s foes have counsell’d deep, Although they bind with fetters strong ; The God of Jacob does not sleep— His vengeance will not slumber long. Then let your souls be stay’d on God : A glorious scene is drawing nigh: Though tempests gather like a flood, The storm though fierce will soon pass by. With constant faith and fervent prayer, With deep humility of soul, With steadfast mind and heart prepare To see th’ Eternal purpose roll. Our God in judgment will come near, His mighty arm He will make bare : For Zion’s sake He will appear : Then, O ye Saints, awake ! prepare ! Awake to union and be one, “Or,” saith the Lord, “ you are not mine :” Yea, like the Father and the Son, Let all the Saints in union join. 188 POEMS. TO MRS. Lf. OBITUARY. Karthly happiness is fleeting— Earthly prospects quickly fade— Oft the heart with pleasure beating Is to bitterness betray’d ! Scenes of sorrow most distressing— Scenes that fill the heart with pain, Often yield the choicest blessing : Present loss is future gain. In the darkest dispensation O remember God is just : "Tis the richest consolation In His faithfulness to trust. Let the heart opprest with sorrow, Let the bosom fill’d with grief, Let the wounded spirit borrow F'rom His promise kind relief. When affliction’s surge comes o’er you, Look beyond the dark’ning wave : See a brighter scene before you ; Hail the triumph o'er the grave ! POEMS. 139 Though your lovely child is taken From your bosom to the urn, Soon the sleeping dust will waken, And the spirit will return. Yes, again you will behold it, Fairer than the morning ray ; In your'arms you will enfold it, Where all tears are wip’d away. 0 CELESTIAL GLORY. The trials of the present day Require the Saints to watch and pray, That they may keep the narrow way To the Celestial glory. For even Saints may turn aside Through fear of ills that may betide ; Or else, induc’d by worldly pride, And lose Celestial glory. 140 POEMS. O’er rugged cliffs and mountains high, Through sunless vales, the path may lie, Our faith and confidence to try In the Celestial glory. We need not fear though cowards say ‘Old Anak’s hosts in ambush lay, Or there 's a lion in the way To the Celestial glory. Fear not though life should be at stake, But think how Jesus for our sake Endur’d, that we might yet partake Of the Celestial glory. We here may sometimes suffer wrong : But when we join with Enoch’s throng Welll loudly echo vict'ry’s song In the Celestial glory. What though by some who seem devout, Our names, as evil, are cast out, If honor clothe us round about In the Celestial glory ! Be steadfast, then—with courage hold The key of God's eternal mould, That will the mysteries unfold Of the Celestial glory. POEMS. And let our hearts and hands be pure, That we may faithfully endure, And all the blessings may secure Of the Celestial glory. With patience cultivate within, All principles averse to sin ; And be prepar’d to enter in To the Celestial glory. Then let the times and seasons fly, And bring the glorious period nigh When Zion will arise on high, In the Celestial glory. a POEMS. THE ASSASSINATION OF GENERALS JOSEPH SMITH AND HYRUM SMITH, First Presidents of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Wuo WERE MAssAcRED BY A Mos, IN CARTHAGE, HANCOCK CouNTY, ILL., ON THE 27TH OF JUNE, 1844, And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held: And they cried with a loud voice, saying, How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth ? And white robes were given unto every one of them; and it was said unto them, that they should rest yet for a little season, until their fellow- servants also and their brethren, that should be killed as they were, should be fulfilled.—Rev. vi, 9, 10, 11. Ye heavens, attend! Let all the earth give ear! Let Gods and seraphs, men and angels hear : The worlds on high—the Universe, shall know What awful scenes are acted here below ! Had nature’s self a heart, her heart would bleed At the recital of so foul a deed ; POEMS. 143 For never, since the Son of God was slain, Has blood so noble flow’d from human vein, As that which now on God for vengeance calls From ‘ freedom’s ” ground—from Carthage prison walls ! Oh, Illinois! thy soil has drunk the blood Of Prophets, martyr'd for the truth of God. Once-lov’d America! what can atone For the pure blood of innocence thou ’st sown ? Were all thy streams in teary torrents shed To mourn the fate of those illustrious dead, How vain the tribute for the noblest worth That grac’d thy surface, O degraded earth! Oh, wretched murd'rers, fierce for human blood ! You've slain the Prophets of the living God, Who've borne oppression from their early youth, To plant on earth the principles of truth. Shades of our patriot fathers! can it be, Beneath your blood-stain’d flag of Liberty, The firm supporters of our country’s cause Are butcher'd while submissive to her laws ? Yes, blameless men, defam'd by hellish lies, Have thus been offer'd as a sacrifice, T’ appease the ragings of a brutish clan, That has defied the laws of God and man! "Twas not for crime or guilt of theirs they fell : Against the laws they never did rebel. CUO anette a 144 POEMS. True to their country, yet her plighted faith Has prov’d an instrument of cruel death ! Great men have fallen, mighty men have died— Nations have mourn’d their fav'rites and their pride ; But Two so wise, so virtuous, and so good, Before, on earth, at once, have never stood Since the creation—men whom God ordain’d To publish truth where error long had reign’d ; Of whom the world itself unworthy prov‘d : It KNEW THEM Nor; but men with hatred moy'd, And with infernal spirits, have combin’d Against the best, the noblest of mankind ! Oh, persecution ! shall thy purple hand Spread utter desolation through the land ? Shall Freedom’s banner be no more unfurl’d ? Has peace indeed been taken from the world ? Thou God of Jacob, in this trying hour Help us to trust in thy Almighty power— Support thy Saints beneath this awful stroke, Make bare thine arm to break oppression’s yoke. We mourn thy Prophet, from whose lips have flow’d The words of life thy Spirit has bestow’d— A depth of thought no human art could reach, From time to time roll’d in sublimest speech, From thy celestial fountain, through his mind, To purify and elevate mankind : POEMS.: 145 The rich intelligence by him brought forth Is like the sunbeam spreading o’er the earth. Now Zion mourns—she mourns an earthly head : Her Prophet and her Patriarch are dead ! The blackest deed that men and devils know Since Calv’ry’s scene, has laid the brothers low ! One while in life, and one in death, they prov’d How strong their friendship—how they truly lov’d : True to their mission until death they stood, Then seal'd their testimony with their blood. All hearts with sorrow bleed, and every eye Is bath’d in tears, each bosom heaves a sigh, Heart-broken widows’ agonizing groans Are mingled with the helpless orphans’ moans ! Ye Saints! be still, and know that God is just— With steadfast purpose in His promise trust: Girded with sackcloth, own His mighty hand, And wait His judgments on this guilty land ! The noble Martyrs now have gone to move The cause of Zion in the Courts above. Nauvoo, Juty 1, 1844. 146 POEMS. LET US GO. Let us go, let us go to the ends of the earth— Let us go far away from the land of our birth ; For the Banner of Freedom no longer will wave O’er the patriots’ tomb—o’er the dust of the brave. Let us go, let us go from a country of strife, From a land where the wicked are seeking our life, From a country where justice no longer remains, From which virtue is fled—where iniquity reigns. Let us go, let us go from a government where Our just rights of protection we never can share— Where the soil we have purchas’d we cannot enjoy Till the time when ‘“ the waster goes forth to destroy.” Let us go, let us go to the wilds for a home, Where the wolf and the deer and the buffalo roam, Where the life-inspir’d ‘‘ Kagle ” in liberty flies, Where the mountains of Israel in majesty rise. Let us go, let us go to a country whose soil Can be made to produce wine, milk, honey, and oil ; Where beneath our own vines we may sit and enjoy The rich fruit of our labors, and naught will destroy. - ee nt POEMS. 147 Let us go, let us go where our rights are secure, Where the waters are clear and the atmosphere pure, Where the hand of oppression has never been felt, | Where the blood of the Prophets has never been spilt. Let us go, let us go where the kingdom of God Will be seen in its order extending abroad— Where the Priesthood again will exhibit its worth In the regeneration of man and of earth. Let us go, let us go to the fai” western shore, Where the blood-thirsty ‘‘ Christians ” will hunt us no | more ; Where the waves of the ocean will echo the sound, And the shout of salvation extend the world round. | | O THE LORD IS MY TRUST. Thou that didst create the heavens and the earth, the seas and the fountains of water, thou art my God. Thou art the same—thou changest not, therefore I 148 POEMS. will not fear; for thy word will endure, and thy promises will surely be verified. In thee have I put my trust; and I know in whom I have confided, and I shall not be confounded. Though difficulties rise before me higher than the Himmaleh mountains, I will go forward ; for thou, Lord, wilt open the way before me, and make straight paths for my feet. When the billows of Change encompass me—when its surges dash furiously, and the foam thereof is nigh unto overwhelming, thy power will sustain me: I will smile at the rage of the tempest, and ride fearlessly and triumphantly across the boisterous ocean of circumstance. Thy Spirit is better than the juice of the grape, thy approbation is preferable to the smiles of earthly friends, thy favor is richer than the finest gold, and thy wisdom transcendeth all human understanding. Thy power is supreme, thy plans are founded in wisdom, thou wilt perform thy purposes and none can prevent. The principles of thy kingdom are principles of truth, and truth is everlasting as thyself, therefore thy king- dom will stand, and those that abide its laws will come up before thee to dwell in thy presence. I will adhere to thy statutes, I will abide the New and Everlasting Covenant, not counting my life dear unto me. When the clouds of uncertainty gather upon the hori- zon, darker than the shades of midnight, when distrust is raising its standard over the broad field of expectation, thy word will dissipate every obstruction, and the ‘ testi- mony of Jesus” will light up a lamp that will guide my vision through the portals of immortality, and commu- nicate to my understanding the glories of the Celestial || kingdom. ‘ * Oo POEMS. 149 | } | THE BEREAVED WIFE. I knew her ere she had been left In her heart’s loneliness— Before her prospects were bereft Of all of happiness. She then was smiling as the bow That gilds the circling heaven, As placid as the moonlight flow Upon the crest of even’. By him protected—by his side, She felt secure from harm : She fear’d no ill that could betide, While leaning on his arm. POEMS. But change came o’er, with misty brow, And strew’d her path with gloom: Her hopes that shone so brightly, now Lie shrouded in the tomb! I've seen the willow bending low, And ’tis unbroken still ; I’ve seen the budded lily bow, And yet its colors fill. Her heart, almost by grief despoil’d, Felt a returning joy While gazing on her infant child, Her sweetly smiling boy. ‘Smile on, my babe, smile on, ’tis well Indeed thou dost not know Thy early loss—thy grief would swell Thy mother’s cup of woe. ‘But ah! since you are fatherless, I must my tears resign— My selfish grief I must suppress, And seek my weal in thine. ‘Tl nerve my heart, and throw away My weak and idle fears ; And in life’s rough and stormy way Protect thy tender years. POEMS. 151 ‘‘T will suppress each rising sigh, Each starting tear recall : Werre still secure beneath His eye Who ‘marks the sparrow’s fall.’ ” Low bending in the’storm, _ Now spreads throughout her lonely bower A sweet, supernal charm. | She said ; and, like a fragrant flower, | | EDEN. “And the Lord God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed.” Primeval beauty, in primeval bloom, Glow’d in the scenery, flowing with perfume ; Sweet spicy gales in gentle currents flow’d Through Eden’s garden, form’d for man’s abode : i - POEMS, Music, sweet music, fill’d the ambient air ; Melodious songsters chim’d rich anthems there ; Order and concord, harmony and love Smil’d o'er the earth and through the air above. The earth produc’d without corroding toil— The mountains tlow’d with honey, wine, and oil. No deadly gas, no earthquake shook the ground ; No fierce, terrific tempest howl'd around. Peace, smiling peace, swept over earth’s domain, Breathing soft whispers in a constant strain : No wolf or tiger prowl’d in quest of blood— The tender herbage form’d their daily food ; And bears and lions in those halcyon days With bleating flocks and loving herds could graze. No thorns or briars then obscur’d the ground ; No pois’nous reptile then was coiling round ; No noxious plant t’ infect the balmy breeze With foul effluvia, laden with disease. Pure was each fountain, and each streamlet pure ; Man’s health was perfect and his life secure : Lord of the earth, he rul’d from pole to pole— The brutal species bow’d to his control. Was man alone? No: smiling by his side, With form angelic, moy’d his faultless bride. Love, sacred love, their hearts together drew, Like blending drops of summer morning dew. Sweet their employment, midst the blooming flowers, The fragrant arbors, and the golden bowers : POEMS. So near allied to beings o’er the sky, Their minds were holy—every thought was high : The stream of knowledge then was pure and broad, For man held converse with th’ Eternal God. ADDRESS TO EARTH. Thou, Earth, wast once a glorious sphere Of noble magnitude, And didst with majesty appear Among the worlds of God : But thy dimensions have been torn Asunder, piece by piece, And each dismember’d fragment borne Abroad to distant space. When Enoch could no longer stay Amid corruption here, Part of thyself was borne away To form another sphere : POEMS. That portion where his City stood He gain’d by right approvwd ; And nearer to the throne of God His planet upward mov’d. And when the Lord saw fit to hide The “ ten lost tribes” away, Thou, earth, wast sever’d to provide The orb on which they stay. And thus, from time to time, thy size Has been diminished, till Thou seemst the law of sacrifice Created to fulfil. The curse of God on man was plac’d ; That curse thou didst partake, And thou hast been by turns disgrac’d And honor'd for his sake. The vilest wretches hell will claim, Now breathe thy atmosphere ; The noblest spirits heaven can name, Have been embodied here. Jesus, the Lord, thy surface grac’d ; He fell a sacrifice ! And now within thy cold embrace The martyr’d Joseph lies! POEMS. 155 When Satan’s hosts are overcome, The martyr’d, princely race Will claim thee their celestial home— The royal dwelling place. A “restitution” yet must come, That will to thee restore, By the grand law of worlds, thy sum And thou, O Earth, wilt leave the track Thou hast been doom’d to trace— The Gods with shouts will bring thee back To fill thy native place. TO PRESIDENT BRIGHAM YOUNG. / Of matter heretofore. | A responsible station is surely thine, | | And the weight of your calling can none define ; || Being call’d of the Lord o’er the Twelve to preside, And with them o’er the Church and the world beside. 156 POEMS. Like Elisha of old, when Elijah fled © In a chariot of fire, you have lost your head! Lost your head? Ono: you are left to prove To the Gods your integrity, faith, and love. You have gain’d, like Elisha, a rich behest, For the mantle of Joseph seems to rest Upon you, while the Spirit and power divine That inspir’d his heart are inspiring thine. The great work which he laid the foundation to, Is unfinish’d, and resting on you to do ; While your brethren, the Twelve, bear the kingdom forth To the distant nations upon the earth. Kings, princes, and nobles will honor thee, And thy name will be great on the isles of the sea ; And the light of intelligence you will spread Will ennoble the living and exalt the dead. The great Spirit of Truth will direct your ways ; Generations to come will repeat your praise : When your work on earth is accomplish’d, you'll stand In your station appointed at God’s right hand. ; POEMS. TO JOHN TAYLOR. One of the Twelve Apostles. Thou Chieftain in Zion! henceforward your name Will be class’d with the martyrs, and share in their fame : Through ages eternal, of you will be said, “ With the greatest of Prophets he suffer’d and bled.” When the shafts of injustice were pointed at him, When the cup of his suffring was fill’d to the brim, When his innocent blood was inhumanly shed, You shar‘d his afflictions and with him you bled. When around you, like hailstones, the rifle balls flew, When the passage of death open’d wide to your view, When the Prophet's freed spirit through martyrdom fled, In your gore you lay welt’ring—with martyrs you dled. All the scars from your wounds, like the trophies of yore, Shall be ensigns of honor, till you are no more ; And by all generations, of you shall be said, “With the best of the Prophets in prison he bled.” JuLy, 1844. | 1 POEMS. THE VENERABLE MRS. LUCY SMITH. The aged, venerated, much-belov'd Mother in Zion, and the mother of The greatest men this generation had To boast. One, only one, of all her sons Survives—the others sleep the sleep of death ! The great anointed Seer and Prophet she Has nurs’d upon her bosom and has watch’d Jn helpless, cradled infancy. Her heart With deep solicitude had often yearn’d Over his tender childhood, ere the God Of heaven reveal’d the glorious purpose which "Twas pre-determin’d in the courts above Should be accomplish’d in the present age. But when she realiz’d that God had call’d Him, in his youth and inexperience, to Re-introduce the ‘‘ ancient order,” and Confront the prejudices of the world, The throbbings of her breast none can describe : And she can tell a tale that none besides Can tell. She ’s suffer’d much, and much she has Enjoy’d. I oft have sat beside her and Have listen’d with sweet admiration to Her strains of heavenly eloquence, while she | | POEMS. Describ’d the glories that are soon to be Reveal’d. She's witness’d change succeeding change Roll up the tide of revolution, till Its heaving waves accumulating seem About to burst and overwhelm the world ! The standard of our country she has seen Rising in glorious majesty, and wave Its fam’d, unrivall’d banner gracefully, Till other hands than those that rear’d it, sapp’d. Its broad foundation, and its ensign marr’d! Tott’ring and tremulous, it now appears Ready to fall, and in its fall to make The most tremendous crash the civil world Has ever known! She ’s seen the Church of God Start into being, and extend itself From shore to shore, and plant its footsteps on The islands of the sea. She once beheld Her own dear husband drageg’d to prison, while With tears and supplicating words she plead His innocence, and begg’d for his release. ‘‘ Commit the Book of Mormon to the flames,” Replied the officer of Justice, ‘‘ and Your husband shall be liberated.” But Her noble spirit scorn’d to purchase his Release on terms so base—at such a price ! She lov’d the truth, and fear’d the God of heaven. She’s seen her children driven from place to place, POEMS. And hunted like the mountain deer. She’s stood Beside the death-bed of her noble lord, Who, ere the lamp of life became extinct, Like ancient Jacob, call’d his children round, And bless’d them one by one. I knew him well, For he was Zion’s first great Patriarch ; And from his lips I've felt the sacred power Of blessing on my head. But he has gone, And she in lonely widowhood remains ! She ’s follow’d to the grave five noble sons ! She stood beside the bleeding forms of those Great brother-martyrs of the latter-day. Ah! think of her, ye tender mothers, when Her feeble, tott’ring frame, that bow’d beneath The weight of years and life’s infirmities, Accumulated by the toils and cares, Anxieties and oft heart-rending griefs, Stood o’er her murder’d sons! She laid her hand Upon their marble foreheads, while the blood Was freely gushing from their purple wounds ! And yet she lives, and yet bears witness to The truth for which they fell a sacrifice. Yes, venerable Lady, thou shalt live While life to thee shall be a blessing. Thou Art dear to every faithful Saint. Thousands Already bless thee, millions yet to come Will venerate thy name and speak thy praise. City oF JosEPH, May, 1845. ae CAMP OF ISRAEL. INGOs Es Written after leaving the City of Nauvoo. Although in woods and tents we dwell, Shout! shout! O Camp of Israel ; No Christian mobs on earth can bind Our thoughts, or steal our peace of mind. Chorus. Though we fly from vile aggression, We'll maintain our pure profession, Seek a peaceable possession, Far from Gentiles and oppression. We'd better live in tents and smoke Than wear the cursed Gentile yoke, We'd better from our country fly Than by mobocracy to die. Chorus—Though we fly, &e. We've left the City of Nauvoo, And our beloved Temple too ; M | 162 POEMS, And to the wilderness we go | Amid the winter frosts and snow. Chorus—Though we fly, &e. Our homes were dear—we lov’d them well— Beneath our roofs we fain would dwell ; And honor the great God’s commands, By mutual rights of Christian lands. Chorus—Though we fly, &c. Our persecutors will not cease Their murd’rous spoiling of our peace, | And have decreed that we shall go To wilds where reeds and rushes grow. Chorus—Though we fly, &c. The Camp, the Camp—its numbers swell— | Shout! shout! O Camp of Israel! | The King, the Lord of Hosts is near, His armies guard our front and rear. | Chorus—Though we fly, &e. West Sipe or THE MississtpPrt1, Fes. 19Tn, 1846. I ss POEMS. 163 CAMP OF ISRAEL. Now2: Written on leaving our first Encampment, after crossing the Mississippi River. | Lo! a mighty host of Jacob, | ‘Tented on the western shore Of the noble Mississippi, | _ Which they had been crossing o’er. At the last day-dawn of winter, Bound with frost and wrapp’d in snow; Hark! the cry is, “‘ Onward ! onward ! Camp of Israel! rise and go.” | All at once is life and motion— Trunks and beds and baggage fly ; Oxen yok’d, and horses harness’d, Tents roll’d up and passing by : Soon the carriage wheels are moving Onward to a woodland dell, Where at sunset all are quarter’d— Camp of Israel! all is well. | / Thickly round the tents are cluster’d ; Neighb'ring smokes together blend ; i 164 POEMS. Supper serv'd, the hymns are chanted And the evening prayers ascend. Last of all, the guards are station’d— Heavens! must guards be serving here ? Who would harm the houseless exiles ? Camp of Israel! never fear. Where is freedom? Where is justice ? Both have from this nation fled ; And the blood of martyr‘d Prophets Must be answer'd on its head! Therefore, to your tents, O Jacob ! Like our father Abra’m dwell : God will execute His purpose— Camp of Israel! all is well. Marcu Ist, 1846. POEMS. IN ALL THINGS REJOICE. O, ye toss’d to and fro, and afflicted ! Rejoice in the hope of your lot; For you're truly the children of Israel, But the Gentiles know it not; And it matters not when or whither You go, neither whom among ; Only so that you closely follow Your leader, Brigham Young. Let the spirit of peace and union, And the practice of righteousness, Be your prominent characteristics As you go to the wilderness : And the blessings of heaven will attend you Both in time and eternity, If you strictly adhere to the counsel Of Brigham and Heber C. The Spirit and power of Jehovah Will be guiding your feet along ; For the angels of God are with you— They mingle in Israel’s throng. In sunshine, in storms, and in tempests— In all changes, console yourselves, That your sharers in sorrow and joy are Brigham, Heber, and all the Twelve. 166 POEMS. TO THE WRITERS OF FICTION. O, why indulge the gifted pen To float through fiction’s fairy field— To-chant the deeds of fabled men, And weave the garland phantoms yield ? Truth has gay arbors crown’d with love, Broad fields where pleasure gambols free, And deeps where shrouded spirits move, And heights of folded mystery. And there are pearls of dazzling hue In wisdom’s deep, unfathom’d sea ; Fair gems the paths of virtue strew, Surpassing those of mimicry. And real life has rich romance Which fancy’s touch cannot enhance ; And sad existence often swells The tragic tales that fiction tells. Shall the bright sun of reason fade And sink in fancy’s mystic shade ? Shall bold realities retire Before imagination’s fire ? POEMS. Or shall a lofty genius bow To twine around its noble brow A garland from inferior soil ; When half the culture—half the toil, If spent in truth’s luxuriant field, Would rich, unfading laurels yield, Would reap celestial diadems, Emblazon’d with immortal gems ? Ye favor’d ones, who sit beneath The glorious Gospel’s heavenly sound ; Crave not the pebbles on the heath, Pluck not the shrubs of barren ground. Waste not the gifts that God has given To you, on things beneath your care ; But let your genius soar to heaven And bask in beams of glory there. LINES Written on the Birth of the Infant Son of Mrs. Emma, Widow of the late General Joseph Smith. Sinless as celestial spirits, Lovely as a morning flower, Comes the smiling infant stranger In an evil-omen’d hour ; In an hour of lamentation— In a time—a season when Zion’s noblest sons are fallen By the hands of wicked men ; Tn an hour when peace and safety Have the civil banner fled— In a day when legal justice Covers its dishonor’d head ; In an age when Saints must suffer Without mercy or redress— Comes to meet a generation That has made it fatherless. Not to share a father’s fondness— Not to know its father’s worth : By the arm of persecution, ‘Tis an orphan at its birth ! Smile, sweet babe, thou art unconscious Of thy great, untimely loss ! The broad stroke of thy bereavement Zion’s pathway seem’d to cross ! Till in childhood thou hadst known him, Had the age thy father spar’d, The endearment of remembrance Through thy lifetime thou hadst shar’d. Thou mayst draw from love and kindness, All a mother can bestow ; But, alas! on earth a father Thou art destin’d not to know! Nauvoo, Nov. 241Tn, 1844. | 170 POEMS. A JOURNEYING SONG THE PIONEERS TO THE MOUNTAINS. DEDICATED TO PRESIDENT B. YOUNG. The time of winter now is o’er— There’s verdure on the plain : We leave our shelt’ring roofs once more, And to our tents again. Chorus. Thou Camp of Israel, onward move ; O Jacob, rise and sing ; Ye Saints, the world’s salvation prove— All hail to Zion’s King. We go to choice and goodly lands, With rich and fertile soil, ‘That by the labor of our hands Will yield us wine and oil. Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &c. POEMS. We go beside the mountain cliffs, Where purest waters flow— Where nature will her precious gifts Abundantly bestow. Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &e. We'll find a climate pure and free, Producing life and health, Where steady care and industry Will prove a source of wealth. Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &c. And there, again we will surround In peace the luscious board ; And share the products of the ground, With skill and prudence stor’d. Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &c. We leave the mobbing Gentile race, Who thirst to shed our blood; Lo rest in Jacob’s hiding place, Where Nephite Temples stood. Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &c. We seek a land where truth will reign, And innocence be free ; Where lawful rights will be maintain’d— ‘A land of Liberty. Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &c. 171 172 POEMS. We seek a land of holiness, Where justice to the line, And to the plummet righteousness, Will every work define. Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &e. We go where virtue will be known, And merit meet its due ; For Zion’s pathway will be strown With light and glory too. Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &c. We go where hypocrites will fear, And tremble at the word Of him who is appointed here To wield the “‘ two-edg’d sword.” Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &e. Well find the land the Prophet saw In vision, when he said, ‘There, there will the celestial law Be given and obey’d.” Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &c. We go where nations yet will come In ships, from climes abroad, To seek protection and a home, And worship Israel’s God. Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &e. POEMS. 173 We'll build in peace and safety there A City to the Lord ; And shout amid our toils to share A Latter-day’s reward ! Chorus—Thou Camp of Israel, &c. WINTER QUARTERS, APRIL 10, 1847. THE TWELVE. They have gone, they have gone, new privations to share, Gone as Abraham went when he knew not where ; They have gone like the deer when pursued in the chase, To secure for the Saints a safe hiding-place. Why, O why must they go to the depth of the wild, Where Cultivation for centuries has not smil'd ? a 174 POEMS, Wherefore thus on a pilgrimage must they go forth | And forsake all the comforts and blessings of earth ? | They are call’d to be saviors; and saviors must flee To a wilderness home for security, While the anger of nations is raging abroad, While the Gentiles are feeling the judgments of God. | They have gone, they have gone: may the Spirit's sweet voice Whisper comfort and peace, that their hearts may re- joice : May an angel of presence on each one attend, To protect from all ill, and preserve to the end. And when God directs, may they retrace their track, And to these Winter Quarters in safety come back ; That the Saints who tarry may be of good cheer, And with heart-felt rejoicings, welcome them here. WINTER QUARTERS, APRIL 14, 1847. POEMS. 175 TO THE VENERABLE PATRIARCH JOHN SMITH. Great glory awaits thee, thou father in Israel, To reward all thy toils and thy labors of love: The angels that guard thee, that watch o’er thy pathway, Are proud to report thee in councils above. The pathway that leads to the mansions of glory, Where freedom and justice eternally reign, The Lord God of Jacob has mark’d for thy footsteps, To bring thee to dwell in His presence again. I have oft felt the power of thy blessings upon me ; And my heart feels to bless thee, thou servant of God, And say thou lt be hid in the chambers of Israel, While the great indignation is raging abroad ; For He that appointed the times and the seasons, Allotted thy calling and work on the earth ; And here, in His sight, will thy life be held precious Until thou hast fulfill’d the design of thy birth. Thou art greatly belov'd by the Saints that surround thee, They ’ve shar’d in thy blessings and greatly rejoice ; The power of the Priesthood is felt through thy presence— The weak become strong at the sound of thy voice. | POEMS. Thou art also belov’d in the councils of heaven, Where once thou wast seated, and where now thy name Is spoken with honor and held in remembrance Till thou shalt return to their sittings again. When thou shalt have finish’d thy toils and thy trials, Thou wilt rest for awhile, for present reward— Thou wilt join with the spirits of “just men made per- fect,” And enter with triumph the joy of thy Lord : And then in the morn of the first resurrection, Thou wilt come forth to reign with the Savior o earth ; | Made holy and pure through the regeneration, The Gods will rejoice in thy glorious birth. WINTER QUARTERS, OcTOBER 24, 1846. POEMS. 177 TO MRS. V. KIMBALL. Thou much belov’d in Zion, Remember, life is made A double-sided picture, Contrasting light and shade. Our Father means to prove us ; And when we're fully tried, He will reverse the drawing, And show the better side. Then, then we'll be astonish’d, That ignorance could throw Such dismal shades of darkness Where light and beauty glow. The mists that hide the future Are round our visions thrown ; But when, as seen, we're seeing, And know as we are known, And tending to annoy, Will, like dull shadows, vanish, Whatever seems forbidding, Or turn to crowns of joy. | 178 POEMS. TO ELDER L., ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR EUROPE. Go, brother, go forth in the spirit of Jesus, Enrob’d with salvation, encircl’d with power ; Go forth as a herald to publish glad tidings, Go, call to the nations, go tell them the hour. Go, brother, be humble, hold fast your profession, Continue to cling to the strong iron rod : "Twill guide through the mists and the clouds of thick darkness To the fountain of light and the glory of God. Go, brother, your country has chas’d you in exile, With an oft-oppress'd people—the Saints of the Lord, Who are passing the furnace of deep “ fiery trials,” Rejoicing in hope of the “ better reward.” Go, brother, and tell our dear brethren in Europe, The suffring and patience and faith of the Saints, Who, for righteousness’ sake, on the earth are but strangers, Yet God is their hope, and their spirit ne’er faints. Go, brother, and say to the Saints that are faithful, The Lord is preparing a kingdom of rest ; POEMS. And when they have pass’d through the tide of affliction, With a fulness of blessing they'll truly be blest. Go, brother, be faithful, and God will protect you, And bear you in safety across the great deep ; And your guardian angel will bring you instruction, And whisper sweet comfort to you when you sleep. Go, brother, and when, from the friends that surround you, You are breathing the air of a far distant clime, Look oft in the mirror of your recollection, And the sweet-sounding harp-strings of friendship will chime. May the God of our fathers preserve you from evil, And fill you with wisdom and light evermore ; And when you with honor have finish’d your mission, Return you in peace to America’s shore. POEMS. TO CHARLES AND VILATE. Please accept my warmest wishes For your good, you wedded pair ; That the richest, choicest blessings Heaven may grant your lot to share. Peace and friendship, love and union, Plenteous as the summer dew, May they on your opening pathway Gems of sacred pleasure strew. May you feel the Holy Spirit Freely through your bosoms flow, Till at length you shall inherit All the Priesthood can bestow. When your life, both long and happy, You have finish’d here on earth, Sweetly sleep, then re-awaken In a high celestial birth. POEMS. 181 SONG OF THE DESERT. Beneath the cloud-topp’d mountain, Beside the craggy bluff, Where every dint of nature Is rude and wild enough ; Upon the verdant meadow, Upon the sunburnt plain, Upon the sandy hillock ; We waken music’s strain. Beneath the pine’s thick branches, That has for ages stood ; Beneath the humble cedar, And the green cotton-wood ; Beside the broad, smooth river, Beside the flowing spring, Beside the limpid streamlet ; We often sit and sing. Beneath the sparkling concave, When stars in millions come To cheer the pilgrim strangers, And bid us feel at home ; Beneath the lovely moonlight, When Cynthia spreads her rays ; 182 POEMS. In social groups assembled, We join in songs of praise. Cheer’d by the blaze of firelight, When twilight shadows fall, And when the darkness gathers Around our spacious hall, With all the warm emotion To saintly bosoms given, In strains of pure devotion We praise the God of heaven. Bank OF PLATTE River, AvG. 25, 1847. POEMS. 183 TO PRESIDENT B. YOUNG AND CAMP. Written on meeting the Pioneers to the Mountains, on their return, between the Platte and Green Rivers. Hail! ye mighty men of Israel, Who the hiding place have found : The Eternal God has blest you— You have stood on holy ground. Chorus. Praise the Lord! we’re glad to meet you: Welcome, welcome on your way— Yes, O yes, with songs we greet you, Pioneers of Latter-day. A choice land, of old appointed For the House of Israel’s rest, You have found and consecrated— Through your blessing ’twill be blest. Chorus—Praise the Lord, &c. Holy, free, and unpolluted, Will that land for us remain ; While the sacred laws of justice There the Saints of God maintain. Chorus—Praise the Lord, &c. 184 POEMS. Go, return to Winter Quarters— (so in peace and safety too ; There the purest hearts are beating, Warm with hopes of seeing you. Chorus—Praise the Lord, &c. We will onward to the Valley— Speed your way—make haste and come, That ere long, with joy and gladness, We may bid you welcome home. Chorus—Praise the Lord, &c. O THE WIFE'S SALUTATION. Our life is a cup where the sweet with the bitter, And bitter with sweet oft commingle again ; Where we're meeting and parting and parting and meeting, Pain changes to pleasure and pleasure to pain. POEMS. Chorus. To your home—to your dwelling, my husband, you're welcome ; For your coming a feast has been made ready here : Your friends I’ve invited—they’ve come in to greet you ; Hat, drink, and be social, and be of good cheer. Should we come to the period by folly predicted, When parting with kindred and friends is unknown, As a matter of course ‘tis a point of existence When the pleasures of meeting will not be our own. Chorus—To your home, &c. Then let ’s be contented to fill up our measure Of days, where friends part and as oftentimes meet ; And endure all the grief and the sorrow of parting, For the sake of enjoying the welcoming treat. Chorus—To your home, &c. When stern duty demands of my husband long absence, In spite of my judgment my feelings will mourn ; But the time wears away, though it seems with slow motion, And my heart beats with joy when I hail his return. Chorus—To your home, &c. My friends, I have call’d you; I now bid you welcome, My husband ’s return’d to my dwelling and me! 186 POEMS. Partake of my joy, and sit down at my table— May your hearts all be happy, your spirits all free. Chorus—To your home, &e. EXPECTATION. Hast thou ever afloat on the ocean afar Seen the lighthouse that shone like a glimmering star? Hast thou watch’d in the dark, the return of the ray Which appears in the east as a prelude of day ? Or anxiously waited till nature should bring From Winter's cold bosom the beauty of Spring ? And didst thou in childhood perspectively view Scenes lucidly shining like Summer's bright dew ? Ah, yes! Expectation, deep rooted within, Unto all a sweet singer from childhood has been, And with varying colors as deeply imprest As the ardor of feeling that reigns in the breast. POEMS. 187 I smile when I think of the masterly art Which it often employs to play tricks on the heart— Its nicely laid schemes, so ingeniously wrought, That in its soft trappings how sweet to be caught ! Its chains, ike enchantments, so gently entwine, They inspire softer raptures than words can define. . But then, its kind whisperings of fanciful tales, Pois’d on wild contingence with ether-like sails ; Its dark midnight murmurs, unlicens’d, that roll On shrewd consternation, to sadden the soul ; Are just like the meteors that fall from the skies, Or like the small bubbles that burst as they rise, Compar’d with those sacred, immutable things Which true Expectation credentially brings For lo! Hesperian) s true acme appears High, high o’er the zenith of human affairs— In a sphere pure and holy, where climate and clime | Are free from the chances and changes of Time. | | | TO COME TO THE VALLEY. MRS. M. A. YOUNG, MRS. V. KIMBALL, AND MRS. EK. A. WHITNEY. Oft my spirit seems to mingle With you, wheresoe’er you are ; That you soon may reach the Valley, Is my earnest daily prayer. Here a quiet, heavenly spirit Seems all nature to pervade— All the Saints are well contented, But the hangers on afraid. All is well, is well in Zion— Zion is the pure in heart : Come along, you holy women, And your blessings here impart. May rich streams of consolation Ever to your bosoms flow, And the bitterness of sorrow Be no more your lots to know. Blessed be your habitations, The abodes of peace and rest ; Yes, with all that is a blessing I would fondly have you blest. I anticipate the period When you to the Valley come : Haste and leave your Winter Quarters— Here you ll find a better home. GREAT SaLt LAKE VALLeEy, Novy., 1847. POEMS. TO ELDER P. B. L. The following is a response to a solicitation to write, on no particular subject. Sir, I had once a home and wealth, Sound constitution and good health ; And then, if call’d at any time For friends or Press to furnish rhyme, I to my study could retire, And, undisturb’d, awake the lyre ; Or labor through the day, and then, While others slept, employ the pen. Life’s circumstances ebb and flow : I’ve since been tossing to and fro. The rugged scenes I've struggl’d through, And sickly climate of Nauvoo, Have tax’d my nature, till at length My constitution and my strength Have almost fail’d. While I apply, Like Paul, “‘ these hands ” to satisfy My daily wants, it is too hard At present to support the Bard. Yet I am happy—lI am blest With friends, the wisest and the best. POEMS. If, by the bye, I should be blest With home and means, with time and rest, These snow-crown’d mountains, towering high, And verdant vales that ‘neath them lie ; The City, ushering into life, With all the wealth of nature rife ; The “ stone,” the power which we suppose Will here commence to crush the toes Of Daniel’s ‘‘ image,” and go forth Subduing all the powers on earth ; May be the subjects of my pen : You'll please excuse my lyre till then, When, though across the western sea, Upon the Isles perchance youll be, From time to time youll hear from me. GREAT ,SALT LAKE City, May, 1849. Law POEMS. : THE MOTHER'S SALUTATION. The Wife of Captain Davis parted with her children on the Plains, at the time when the Mormon Battalion was called out from the Camp of the Saints, and accompanied her husband on that expedition, and arrived in Salt Lake Valley from the South. Having preceded them, and having been notified when her children would arrive, she had prepared a feast, and invited a circle of friends to participate in their joy. Tur Moruer’s SALUTATION was written for, and sung on, the occasion. When from kindred kindred part, The emotions of the heart With instinctive impulse move, Clinging to the forms of love ; And the quicken’d pulses beat, When with mutual love they meet. After years of grief and pain, Children, we have met again : Oft I’ve wept and pray’d for you Since we bade the last adieu ; © Now, with joy to mothers dear, Do I bid you welcome here. Onward coursing, day by day, Year on year has roll’d away Since upon a stranger land We all took the parting hand— = ee Sa POEMS. 193 Since bereft you seem’d to be Of your father and of me. Duty’s prompt and stern demand Tore me from your social band : Trusting in the mighty God, On the soldier’s path I trod, Ever willing to partake Hardships for your father’s sake. Suffring more than tongue can tell On the soldier’s pathway fell ! But that scenery now is o’er— We are spar’d to meet once more : Husband, children, neighbors too, Joyfully I welcome you. Here, upon a land of peace, May our happiness increase— May our ties of friendship be Grac’d with pure integrity : Faithful each till death remain, Then we'll part to meet again. Great Sart LAKE City, Sept., 1848. THE CHILDREN’S SALUTATION. Two of President B. Young’s daughters, Elizabeth Ellsworth and Vilate Decker, came to Salt Lake Valley in 1847. President Young removed with his family in 1848. On the evening of his arrival, his daughters with their husbands, having prepared a supper, after seating their parents at table, with a few friends, sung the ‘*SALUTATION,” which had been written for the occasion. Welcome! father, welcome! mother ; To the Valley you have come : Welcome to your children’s table— Welcome to your children’s home. Chorus. Yes, dear parents, you are welcome— We are happy now with you: With dear husbands, with dear children, With dear father and mother too. Time has roll’d with heavy motion Since we left you far away ; But the past is all forgotten In the blessings of this day. Chorus—Yes, dear parents, &c. POEMS. 195 | Sept. 20, 1848. All the sad and lonely feelings Which our bosoms have opprest, Vanish like the shades of midnight While with your sweet presence blest. Chorus—Yes, dear parents, &c. Now our pulses beat more freely, Now the Valley looks more fair— Nature’s self receives new vigor, Sweeter fragrance fills the air. Chorus—Yes, dear parents, &c. May you in this pleasant Valley Be supplied with every good, And the crown of every blessimg— Health and peace and quietude. ‘ Chorus—Yes, dear parents, &c. 1} “196 POEMS. | THE SALUTATION OF THE SAINTS IN THE VALLEY, TO PRESIDENT B. YOUNG AND COUNSELLORS, ON THEIR SECOND ARRIVAL. You have come, you have come to the Valley once more, And have landed your train, like a ship on the shore: As the fathers of Israel, with hosts you have come— To this beautiful Valley we welcome you home. You have brought to us husbands, wives, daughters, and sons, ) Brothers, sisters, and fathers and mothers at once: With the blessings of God the Eternal you've come— To this beautiful Valley we welcome you home. By the hand of the Gentiles you've long been opprest In a land where our suffrings are yet unredress’d : Over deserts and mountains and kanyons you come— To this beautiful Valley we welcome you home. Like the pillars of heaven, you unshaken have stood By Joseph the Prophet till mobs spilt his blood ; And presiding o’er Israel, to us you have come— To this beautiful Valley we welcome you home. | | | POEMS. 197 With the Camp of the Saints that escap’d from Nauvoo : ‘“‘Up through great tribulations” indeed you have come— To this beautiful Valley we welcome you home. Here the breezes are rife with the spirit of health, And the soil is invested with sources of wealth, Which by Industry’s lever most surely will come— To this beautiful Valley we welcome you home. | To our Chieftain, all hail! to his Counsellors too, Here a bulwark of mountains encircles us round, And with stores for the artist does freely abound— Here are rivers and streamlets whose pure waters foam— To this beautiful Valley we welcome you home. “ Snow and hail storms come down on the mountains | apace, | But the City is low—it is in a low place :” Here’s no castle, no palace, no proud rising dome— To this beautiful Valley we welcome you home. When you've rear’d up a standard, and all with accord Will adhere to the precepts and law of the Lord Which are given, and through Brigham hereafter will come, In this beautiful Valley well have a blest home. 198 POEMS. SONG OF PRAISE AND THANKSGIVING. Our Father God, to thee belongs The tribute of our sweetest songs : Thy power and mercy crown our way To all the blessings of this day. Chorus. Shout! shout! all ye Saints, till the valleys of Ephraim Resound with the praise of our Father on high ; Who has given us a home in the midst of the mountains, While the judgments and scourges or God shall pass by. Thou God that form’d the heavens and earth, . Who brought the seas and fountains forth ; To thee the Saints of Latter-day Their grateful, constant service pay. Chorus—Shout! &c. We worship Him who hath an ear The prayers of contrite hearts to hear: That God who lives—whose pulses move— Whose bosom feels a father’s love. Chorus—Shout ! &e. POEMS. His grace sustain’d us when our foes In mobbing rage against us rose : He taught His servants, as of old, To gather Israel to the fold. Chorus—Shout ! &ec. Thou great Eternal Source of light, Thou Source of wisdom, power, and might ! Thy Saints thy goodness will proclaim In loud hosannas to thy name. Chorus—Shout! &c. We thank thee for these mountain vales, Where life abounds and peace prevails ; The plenteous products of the land Declare the bounty of thy hand. Chorus—Shout ! &c. We'll sing hosannas unto thee, Whose power and wisdom made us free, Till congregated worlds resound Thy praise to all creations round. Chorus—Shout ! &c. 199 200 POEMS. ON THE DEATH OF J. 8. Low in the dust the casket lies, In silence there to rest ; The gem has gone to Paradise, To shine among the blest. "Twas sweet, ‘twas blessedness to die As Jane has died, and go So early to the world on high, Secure from mortal woe. She liv’d a Saint—belov’d on earth By friends and kindred dear, Who knew her well, and priz’d her worth— Her mem’ry still revere. Though gone from us, she lives and moves, And in a brighter sphere ; And still remembers, still she loves Her friends and kindred here. Then dry your tears—weep not for Jane, But faithfully prepare To meet and dwell with her again Where holy beings are— To reach the mansions of the blest, To jom the heavenly song, And share the glorious day of rest With all the ransom’d throng. THE LORD HAS DELIVERED HIS PEOPLE. — Written in the Album of Mrs. M. S. Gates. The Lord hath dealt marvellously with His people, even the Latter-day Saints. He hath delivered them from the hand of their ene- mies—He hath led them forth from the land of oppres- sion. In His own wisdom hath He purposed it, and by His own power in the overruling hand of His Providence has He brought it to pass. When our enemies had plotted our destruction—when they had slaughtered our Prophet and Patriarch, and in- solently brandished their swords in the midst of our dwellings—when they thought to wipe us out of exis- 202 POEMS. tence by rooting us out of our inheritances, and by driving us far beyond the track of civilization ; Then He opened up unto us a path, before untrod- den, except by the roving feet of the wandering savage, the Lamanite of the wilderness. He sustained us while we traversed the sandy waste and the dubious, interminable sage-plains ; He preserved us under the scorching heat of the sun, and amid suffo- cating showers of dust; until we arrived in the chambers of Israel, the Valleys of the Mountains, whose summits are crowned with perennial snows. -He has brought us to a place of safety—a valley of peace—a City of Refuge, beyond the reach of the ruth- less mobocrat, and far from the unhallowed rage of the heartless persecutor. Therefore let us exalt His Great and Holy name— let us sound His praises till they shall reverberate from mountain to mountain, and echo to the most distant nations of the earth. Yea, thou King, the Lord of Hosts, thou Most High God, we will sing of thy goodness in everlasting strains ; for thou hast established us in a fruitful and goodly place amid the munition of rocks, upon the inheritance bequeathed to Joseph and his posterity by his father Jacob. Thou hast preserved it from the possession of the Gentiles—thou hast held it in reserve for a hiding-place for thy Saints. POEMS. 203 ANNIVERSARY SONG FOR THE PIONEERS. Hail! ye mighty, noble Chieftains ! Hail! ye faithful Pioneers ! Powers unseen your footsteps guided, Commemorating their first Entrance into the Valley on the 24th of July. | | | j "Twas Jehovah led you here. Chorus. | Zion’s Banner—F'reedom’s Ensign, Broad and gloriously unfurl'd, | | | Waves amid the Rocky Mountains— Heavenly beacon to the world. From our birth-place, home, and country, Lo! a people, brave and free, Driven by men, by Gods directed Here in search of Liberty. Chorus—Zion’s Banner, &c. In the hiding-place of Israel— In the chambers of the West, Crown’d with nature’s rich abundance, In these valleys we are blest. Chorus—Zion’s Banner, &c. POEMS. Justice here directs the sceptre— Truth and love and friendship meet, Smiling peace her downy carpet Proffers to the stranger’s feet. Chorus—Zion’s Banner, &e. Here will virtue be respected, Industry and useful toil, Youth and innocence protected Like the plants of heavenly soil. Chorus—Zion’s Banner, &c. Brigham Young, the Lord’s anointed— Lov'd of heaven and fear’d of hell : Like Elijah’s on Elisha, Joseph’s mantle on him fell. Chorus—Zion’s Banner, &c. Mighty men compose his Councils, Inspiration makes them wise— None can circumscribe the measures Zion’s counsellors devise. Chorus—Zion’s Banner, &c. Here the hosts of Israel gather— Abra’m’s seed from every land, Through the Priesthood’s light preparing With the Lord of Hosts to stand. Chorus—Zion’s Banner, &c. God will come to bless His people— Jesus Christ and Joseph too— Come to introduce a scenery Great and glorious, grand and new. Chorus—Zion’s Banner, &c. o-—— LIBERTY. CELEBRATION SONG FOR THE TWENTY-FOURTH OF JULY. Sung by Young Ladies. Long, long ago, when Earth and Time Were in the morn of life, All joyous in their lovely prime, With fragrant beauty rife, All nature then in order crown’d With perfect harmony, Luxuriant products cloth’d the ground— O, there was Liberty ! | 206 POEMS. No vail obscur’d the world on high From those that dwelt on earth ; But in the pathway of the sky, They journey’d back and forth. Then God and angels talk’d with men, And woman too was free ; For both were pure and sinless then, In perfect Liberty. The curse pursued transgression’s track, And man from God was driven, Until the Priesthood brought him back To do the will of heaven. We'll shout hosanna to the Lord, For what is yet to be When Earth and man will be restor’d To God and Liberty. We see the light-house brightly blaze Far o’er the boist’rous wave ; With cheering prospects thus we gaze On hopes beyond the grave : For woman, if submissive here To God and man’s decree, Restor’d, will fill a nobler sphere In glorious Liberty. The Lord has set His gracious hand, And by His mighty power POEMS. He led His people to this land, Preparing for the hour : For Earth and Time are growing old, And soon Eternity Will to the Saints of God unfold Celestial Liberty. LINES ON THE DEATH OF BISHOP NEWELL K. WHITNEY. A mighty man, a man of worth, A father and a friend, Has left the narrow sphere of earth, His upward course to wend. Firm as the hills—he was a stay, A bulwark, and a shield: Like a strong pillar, mov'd away To Zion’s broader field. 208 POEMS. From understanding’s deepest wells, Unmeasur’d draughts he drew ; The light that with Jehovah dwells, Inspir’d his judgment too. With dignity he fill’d the sphere Allotted him below ; His presence seem’d an impulse here To wisdom’s genial flow. But now his noble form must lie And slumber in the dust, While he with honor joins the high Assemblies of the just. With fondly cherish’d memory His name will be belov’d, While virtue and integrity Are by the Saints approv’d. The stroke is with a heavy rod ; But while our hearts deplore His loss, we'll own the hand of God, That God whom we adore. G. S. L. City, 1850. POEMS. 209 TO MRS. MARY, CONSORT OF THE LATE HYRUM SMITH, The Second Patriarch over the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Though thy lord, thy companion, is laid im the dust, He that liveth forever, whose counsels are just, ; Is your friend and protector—He only can bind The deep wounds of your spirit and solace your mind. His power is sufficient, whatever betide ; The earth and its fulness are His: He'll provide For your fatherless children : their father He'll be, And, according to promise, a God unto thee. Then, much-honor’d lady, submissively bow To the weight of affliction that falls on you now : The glad period approaches when, happy above, Your companion you'll meet, and rejoice in his love. Nauvoo, 1844, 210 POEMS. TO ELDER FRANKLIN D. RICHARDS, On his first return from Europe. Thrice welcome, herald of Eternal Truth! Glad tidings of salvation you, in youth, Have borne to thousands o’er the wat’ry main ; And now we hail you in our midst again— With int'rest hear you of the welfare tell Of our dear brethren who in Britain dwell. What keen sensations must have fill’d your heart When duty’s unction prompted you to part With those whose welfare with your pulses join ‘d, And whose existence with your own entwin’d— Expos’d to cruel suffering in a land Where persecution held a reeking hand ! Forsaking all, with Godlike, fix’d intent, To Europe’s shore for Zion’s sake you went. The heavens with approbative whispers bless With constant favor constant faithfulness ; And you were crown'd with blessings not a few— The Saints in Europe love and bless you too ; But Scotland seem’d your labors most to share, And friendship wove for you bright garlands there. | Till Jesus Christ shall make his people free— And now your heart’s warm pulses fondly twine Around the motto of their royal line, Th’ insignia which their own brave fathers had— The Thistled Bonnet and the Tartan Plaid. Back to their banks and braes and highland dells, Their spiral cities and their moss-grown cells— The land o’er which bold Genius’ goddess yearns, Sir Walter’s birth-place and the home of Burns, Your spirit now, on thought’s swift pinions borne, To mingle with the Saints will oft return. But, brother Richards, welcome! Here remain Till God appoints to other climes again ; And may the power of lives eternal shed Unnumber’d blessings on the path you tread. Whene’er you write him, will you please to send My cordial salutations to your friend, The gifted ‘“‘ Lyon,” whose sweet-sounding lyre Breathes more than Ida’s—breathes celestial fire ; To whom the high prerogative is given To circulate the glorious truths of heaven, And through the medium of the ‘‘ Star ” diffuse The emanations of his heavenly muse. And Brigham Young, the “ Lion of the Lord,” Sends love and blessing to the Scottish Bard, And all the faithful Saints of God who dwell Where Ossian sung—where Bruce and Wallace fell. Tell them to wait in hope for * liberty,” 212 POEMS. Till Zion’s glorious banner is unfurl’d, And her high standard overlooks the world. In holy aspirations to His throne, To whom the secrets of all hearts are known— Whose are the issuing springs of life and death, The deep-ton’d promptings of our spirits’ breath With fervor are ascending night and day, That for the Saints He soon will clear the way, That scatter’d Israel may be gather’d home To Zion, where the “‘ best from worlds ” will come. THE NEW YEAR, 1852. Hark! ‘tis the trump of Time that ushers in The new, unfolding, undevelop’d year. Who knows its secrets? Who can pry into Its deeply folded vestments and foretell The grand vicissitudes that will precede POEMS. 218 The full-form’d egress of the op’ning year, Now wrapt in curtains of futurity, Which mortal ken, unaided by the light Of inspiration, cannot penetrate ? Its introduction bears the impress of The past, and casts its bold reflection on The future. Time’s broad bosom heaves—on, on Fast moves the billowy tide of change, that in Its destination will o’erwhelm the mass Of the degen’rate governments of earth, And introduce Messiah’s peaceful reign. There is *‘ a fearful looking for ”—a vague Presentiment of something near at hand— A feeling of portentousness, that steals Upon the hearts of multitudes, who see Disorder reigning through all ranks of life. Reformers and reforms, now in our own United States, clashing tornado-like, Are threat’ning dissolution all around. Slavery and anti-slavery—what a strife ! “Japhet shall dwell within the tents of Shem, And Ham shall be his servant,” long ago The Prophet said: ‘tis being now fulfill ‘d. The curse of the Almighty rests upon The color’d race. In His own time—by His Own means, not ours, that curse will be remov’d. POEMS. And woman, too, aspires for something, and She knows not what, which, if attain‘’d, would prove Her very wishes not to be her wish. Sun, moon, and stars, and vagrant comets too, Leaving their orbits, ranging side by side, Contending for prerogatives, as well Might seek to change the laws that govern them, As woman to transcend the sphere which God Through disobedience has assign’d to her, And seek and claim equality with man. She led in the transgression, and was plac’d, By Eloheim’s unchangeable decree, In a subservient and dependent sphere. If virtuous, faithful, and submissive there, She’s lovely, loving, and she is belov'd. Can ships at sea be guided without helm, Boats without oars, steam-engines without steam, The mason work without a trowel? Can The painter work without a brush, or the Shoemaker without awls ? the hatter work Without a block, the blacksmith without sledge Or anyil ? Just as well as men reform And regulate society without The Holy Priesthood’s power. Who can de- scribe POEMS. 215 The heavenly order who have not the right, Like Abra’m, Moses, and Elijah, to Converse with God, and be instructed through The Urim and the Thummim, as of old ? Hearken ! all ye inhabitants of earth, All you philanthropists, who're struggling to Correct the evils of society. You've neither rule or plummet. Here are men, Cloth’d with the everlasting Priesthood—men Full of the Holy Ghost, and authoriz’d T’ establish righteousness—to plant the seed Of pure religion, and restore again A perfect form of government to earth. If elsewhere men are so degenerate That women dare compete with them, and stand In bold comparison, let them come here, And here be taught the principles of life And exaltation. } Let those fair champions of ‘ female rights,” Female conventionists, come here. ; Yes, in These mountain vales, chas’d from the world, © of whom , It ‘‘ was not worthy,” here are noble men, Whom woman may be proud t’ acknowledge for Her own superior, and feel no need G. S. L. Crry, Jan., 1852. Of female Congressmen ; for here the laws And Constitution our forefathers fram’d Are honor’d and respected. Virtue finds Protection ‘neath the heaven-wrought banner here. "Tis here that vile, foul-hearted wretches learn That truth cannot be purchas’d—justice brib’d ; And, taught to fear the bullet’s warm embrace, Through their fond love of life, from crimes desist, And seek a refuge in the States, where weight Of purse is weight of character, and stamps The impress of respectability. ‘‘ Knowledge is power.” Ye Saints of Latter- day, You hold the keys of knowledge. “is for you To act the most conspicuous and the most Important part connected with the scenes Of this New Year, in planting on the earth The principles of Justice, Equity— Of righteousness and everlasting peace. aa CELEBRATION SONG FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. All hail the day Columbia first The iron chains of bondage burst ! Lo! Utah valleys now resound With Freedom’s tread on western ground. Chorus. Though Brocchus, Day, and Brandebury, And Harris too, the Secretary, Have gone—they went! But when they left us, They only of themselves bereft us. Here is a people brave and free, Bold advocates for iberty— The champions of our country’s cause, And firm supporters of her laws. Chorus—Though Brocchus, &e. The banner which our fathers won, The legacy of Washington, Is now in Utah wide unfurl’d, And proffers peace to all the world. Chorus—Though Brocchus, &c. 218 POEMS. We'll here revive our country’s fame, The glory of Columbia’s name : Her Constitution’s germ will be The basis of our Liberty. Chorus—Though Brocchus, &c. With hearts of valor, firm and true, With patriotic ardor too, We now commemorate the day, Where freedom chants her sweetest lay. Chorus—Though Brocchus, &c. Long as the everlasting snows Upon these mountain tops repose, Those rights our vet’ran fathers gain’d Shall in these valleys be sustain’d. Chorus—Though Brocchus, &c. This Territory shall not rate Inferior to a sister State, For justice, order, harmony, Peace, virtue, and integrity. Chorus—Though Brocchus, &c. Our motto,— Truth and Laberty,” As heretofore, will ever be ; And heayen’s strong pillars sooner shake Than we our standard will forsake. Chorus—Though Brocchus, &e. POEMS. 219 TO ELDER SAMUEL W. RICHARDS, On his Departure for Europe. With the Saints that reside o'er the watery main : Go, point them to Zion—inspire them to come To the chambers of Israel, and find a blest home. Go, search out the pure and the contrite in heart— All who with vain idols are willing to part— The noble of spirit—the faithful and meek— All who for salvation in righteousness seek. Teach them to be prudent, their pennies to save, To bear their expenses across the blue wave ; That with joy and rejoicing their feet may abide Where Brigham and Heber and Willard reside. Please salute brother Taylor for me, when you meet ; Lorenzo, Erastus, and Franklin too, greet. That you, in your mission, success may attend, The prayers of the faithful will ever ascend. Go 8 L. Grav Szrr., 1851. Go, go, brother Richards, and mingle again If you will be faithful, you'll surely prevail. 220 POEMS. TO THE SAINTS IN DENMARK. All you who in Denmark believe on the Lord, Rejoice in His goodness, and trust in His word ; Over all that oppress you and all that assail, The Lord is your portion ; then be of good cheer— Though Satan is raging, you’ve nothing to fear: Whatever you suffer for righteousness’ sake Will add to the glory that you will partake. The crown of the martyr ’s a glorious crown ; And if for the Gospel your lives are laid down, An escort of angels your spirits will bear Where Joseph and Hyrum and Abraham are. In the midst of your trials be patient and meek, And the Spirit of God in humility seek, And seek for the wisdom that comes from above— Be as wise as the serpent, yet harmless as doves. Like gold in the furnace the Saints must be tried, Or the coming of Jesus they cannot abide, Neither dwell in His presence hereafter, nor claim A fulness of glory with God and the Lamb. POEMS. We pray for your welfare ; O be of good cheer ! With shouts of hosanna we'll welcome you here, And with you, in the Temple, His blessings partake Who will never, no never, His people forsake. Then endure with long-suffering, and wait for the day When God in His wisdom will open the way For the Saints who are suffring in Denmark to come, And enjoy in the mountains a peaceable home. THE NARROW WAY. “Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.”’—Matt. vii, 14. When I espous’d the cause of Truth, The Holy Spirit from on high Promptly instructed me; forsooth, To lay my youthful prospects by. ——— POEMS. to Ne bo I saw, along the “‘ narrow way,” An ordeal which the Saints must meet To gain the prize: I then did lay My earthly all at Jesus’ feet. My life committed to His care, With food and raiment I’m content, While with the faithful Saints I share The glorious blessings God has sent. Who thinks beneath life’s golden sky To reach the upper court of God ? Who can the Christian armor ply In life’s gay pathway, smooth and broad ? With purpose fix’d, we must pursue An onward course, with steady aim ; And keep perfection’s mark in view, Reckless of grandeur, ease, or fame. Alas! for some who lately shone Resplendent, like the orbs on high ; Who’re waning like yon late full moon, That now seems verging from the sky ! Can Saints secure the great reward And from thy holy precepts stray ? Take not thy Spirit from me, Lord, But keep me in the ‘‘ narrow way.” POEMS. O let me never, never prize Thy favor less than worldly good ; Nor thy prophetic voice despise, Like those that perish’d in the flood. TO MRS. STENHOUSE, SWITZERLAND. Sister, you are counted worthy Toils and sufferings to partake, Which your dear, devoted husband Now endures for Jesus’ sake. Be not fearful or desponding, Though from home you're far away, For the Lord our God will give you Grace according to your day.; | | ———! POEMS. Wreaths of honor, crowns of glory, Robes of pure, celestial white, Will be given to all the faithful— All who in the truth delight. Be not weary in well-doing : Be thou blest—be of good cheer, For your name is known in honor By the Saints—the faithful, here. G. S. L. City, Ave., 1853. THE TEMPLE. For the Laying of the Corner Stones of the Temple in Great Salt Lake City, April 6th, 1853. Our era this day numbers three years and twenty, And lo! a great people inhabit the West ; : The Lord God of Abra’m, the great God of battles, Who leads forth to vict’ry, appointed our rest. Chorus. The Temple! the Temple! we'll build up the Temple— A court of salvation, iniquity’s rod, A glorious beacon, a light on the mountains, A portal for angels, a threshold for God. The stones of the corner—the Temple’s foundation, In peace in the City of Brigham are laid— In the chambers of Israel, a place that is sacred, Where righteousness triumphs, where truth is obey’d. Chorus—The Temple, &c. Glad tidings of joy to the spirits in prison, To the Saints of all countries and isles of the sea, For a Temple of God in the midst of the mountains : Great joy in the courts of the Highest will be. Chorus—The ‘Temple, &c. Rejoice! all ye meek, all ye contrite in spirit, For Zion’s redemption is now drawing near ; And the vail will be rent, and the Saints resurrected—— The kingdom in heaven will shortly appear. Chorus—The Temple, &c. The Lord whom ye seek will soon come to His Temple— The covenant messenger whom ye desire ; He'll purify Israel as gold in the furnace, Consuming the dross with unquenchable fire. Chorus—The Temple, &c. Sing aloud, Hallelujah! to God the Eternal : To Him be all excellence, glory, and worth ; And blessed be Brigham and Heber and Willard, His authoriz’d agency here upon earth. Chorus—The Temple, &c. | POEMS. 227 ALL IS WELL. O awake! my slumb’ring minstrel— Let my harp forget its spell ; Say, O say, in sweetest accents, Zion prospers—all is well. Strike a chord unknown to sadness, Strike, and let its numbers tell, In celestial tones of gladness, Zion prospers—all is well. Zion's welfare is my portion, And I feel my bosom swell With a warm, divine emotion : | When she prospers—all is well. Zion, lo! thy day is dawning, Though the darksome shadows swell : Faith and hope prelude the morning— Thou art prospering—all is well. Thy swift messengers are treading The high courts where princes dwell ; And thy glorious light is spreading— Zion prospers—all is well. The Year has come—the new, the op’ning Year : Another leaf of the great book of Time— Another chapter of the sceneries Of human life is open’d, and a new, An unrecited page is turn’d to be Committed for the grand rehearsal. . We, The Saints of Latter-day, who, with our might, In faithfulness are struggling to assist In moving on the renovation of | The earth and all things that pertain thereto, Fear not its contents ; but, believing in | The promise that “ all things are ours, that naught Can separate us from the love of God— Not principalities or powers, or life Or death, or height or depth, things present or To come,” and with increasing happiness, We view the hasty, hurried flight of Time, With its attendant, wonder-working change, Propelling onward the events declar’d Unto the ancient fathers, to prepare The way for Jesus Christ to come again. And yet the Year, with all its joyousness, Recalls to mind the reminiscences Of other days, and in our bosoms stirs | 228 POEMS. INTRODUCTION OF THE YEAR 1853. POEMS. The feelings of the heart that will entwine Around the mem’ry of the past, ere the Bright star of Liberty had shone upon The dwellings of the Saints. And verily The present, past, and future are entwin’d So closely in their bonds of fellowship— So firmly wedded each to other, that The mind must penetrate and circumscribe The deep, connecting intimacy of The whole, to comprehend the import of Those strange, mysterious occurrences Which sometimes most abruptly introduce Themselves into life’s moving sceneries, And, like a mighty engine, acting in The centre of the grand machinery Of earth’s events, produce those features which Will form the data for all future time. Such is the nature of that horrid scene Which spilt our Prophet’s blood! But God was at The helm—God, the Great Mariner that guides The ship of human life. His wisdom mov’d And, overruling all the wickedness Of Satan’s war-dogs, led this people forth, And, through the vortex of oppression, made Us free ; and blessed be His holy name. But Illinois has brought a cloud, a stain Upon her brow, as dark as all the skill POEMS. Of hell could make it—one which neither time Nor all eternity can e’er erase ! "Twill be a tarnish in the sequel of Her history! “Twill be like mildew in Her wardrobe, vermin in her larder, and Like greedy canker-worms to feed upon Her vitals and consume their rottenness, Until her name shall have become extinct ! Here in these valleys peace and plenty reign. As year to year succeeds, so change to change. And, O ye Saints, be ever on your watch: The prince of darkness slumbers not, and his Innumerable, disembodied hosts Are never weary. God Himself, to test Your steadfastness, will put you to the proof, And He will probe and feel about your hearts, But not in person, for His presence would Annihilate the trial. He will use Those means—those instruments that will the best Effect the purpose. Then, let come what will, Whether in worldly substance you abound, Or, like the Lazarus of old, you live Upon the crumbs that fall from others’ boards, Whether with Saints at home, or far abroad, Hold on to your integrity. Swerve not, Though every tie on earth is sever’d—though Your hearts are made to bleed at every pore, Be to your trust, your purpose, firmer than POEMS. The eternal hills—true to yourselves, true to Each other, true to God: in being true To Him, be true to His authorities— His chosen agency upon the earth, To guide the chariot of salvation. The ‘Rich jewel of integrity, as you Approximate towards perfection, will Increase in value year by year. “Tis wealth, "Tis wealth of character, and will abide The wreck of all things. Tis celestial coin And lawful tender in the court of heaven : ‘Twill pay your passport up, and purchase you The ‘ freedom of the City” of the Gods. TO AN ELDER IN ISRAEL, On his Departure for Italy, in 1852. Cloth’d with the Priesthood and the power Of the Eternal God, To foreign climes you go, to sound Salvation’s trump abroad. You go in Jesus’ name to teach The meek the word of life, And gather Jacob’s scatter'd seed From lands with darkness rife. You go with blessings on your head— The Saints will bless you still ; If faithful, God will give you strength Your mission to fulfil. Youll be remember’d day by day, In faith and unity, By holy men who meet to pray Where prayer is wont to be. You leave these lovely mountain vales, And Zion’s faithful Seer, POEMS. 233 With all the social joys of home To noble spirits dear. You've been a friend to others, and — In times of need youll find The Lord will raise up unto you Friends, faithful, true, and kind. Whatever features Satan’s hosts Assume, be not dismay’d : Be humble, and the power of God Will be your constant aid. All, all is dark, where Genius once Her boasted chart unfurl’d— Proud Italy ! whose classic fires Kssay’d to light the world. Lorenzo Snow, and others, there Have hid the ‘‘ little leaven :” The ‘ mustard seed” is sown, whose boughs Will lodge the ‘ fowls of heaven.” The torch of life is kindled now— Go fan its glimmering rays, Till midnight darkness flies before Truth’s glorious noontide blaze. POEMS. A WORD TO THE SAINTS WHO ARE GATHERING. Think not, when you gather to Zion, Your troubles and trials are through— That nothing but comfort and pleasure Are waiting in Zion for you. No, no; ‘tis design’d as a furnace, All substance, all textures to try— To consume all the ‘‘ wood, hay, and stubble,” And the gold from the dross purify. Think not, when you gather to Zion, That all will be holy and pure— That deception and falsehood are banish’d, And confidence wholly secure. No, no; for the Lord our Redeemer Has said that the tares with the wheat Must grow, till the great day of burning Shall render the harvest complete. Think not, when you gather to Zion, The Saints here have nothing to do But attend to your personal welfare, And always be comforting you. No; the Saints who are faithful are doing What their hands find to do, with their might ; To accomplish the gath’ring of Israel, They are toiling by day and by night. Think not, when you gather to Zion, The prize and the victory won— Think not that the warfare is ended, Or the work of salvation is done. No, no; for the great Prince of Darkness A tenfold exertion will make, When he sees you approaching the fountain Where the truth you may freely partake. | POEMS. 235 O TO ELDER JOHN LYON. Is the ‘“‘ Harp” you presented to me: I admire its bold speech, and its high tone of mind, Like a bright golden gem, in a casket refin’d, | And its accents of innocent glee. Combin’d with rich matter, its elegant style, Where good order and beauty entwine, | | Is a tall panegyric on-skill to compile, On good taste in the author's design. I accept the fair gift, the rich, beautiful boon, With gratitude mingled with pleasure : With its heaven-inspir’d pages I love to commune, And, possessing it, feel I've a treasure. POEMS. TO FRANKLIN D. RICHARDS, One of the Twelve, On his Third Departure for Great Britain. The time has come when you again Must speed you o’er the watery main : You go to cheer and bless once more The Saints who dwell on Europe’s shore. You recognize as word of God, What Brigham bids you do : To stay or go—at home—abroad, Is all the same with you. A representative you go Of Zion’s kingdom here below— Through faithfulness you have been blest, And Zion’s blessings on you rest. The steadfast course you have pursued Has won you confidence— The favor of the wise and good Is your inheritance. GREAT Sart LAKE City, Marcu 27, 1854. POEMS. TIME AND CHANGE. A Historical Sketch, commencing with the Creation, and extending to the year 1841, the time when the Poem was written. Time is a Tourist. ver since the great Co-partnership of light and darkness was Dissolv’d, and youthful day and night, no more Commingling, unremittingly in close Succession mov'd, Time has pursued his grand, Undeyiating, and untiring course. Intent to chronicle the deeds of Change, Passing in simultaneous motion with The revolutions of his rapid wheel, By day and night he slumbers not, and midst The varying seasons, wide varieties, And all the feats of his grand colleague, Change, Though kingdoms, phcenix-like, start into life, And waxing great in regal might, at length Grown terrible, decline and pass away, Leaving no traces but in shatter’d form, Pursues the same straightforward, even course. He tarries not, though dire commotions rage And dash like fierce, tremendous surges on The bosom of the raging deep, convuls’d By angry Neptune’s tempest-storm, evolv’d In fury terrible. Nor yet, when loud Portentous signals indicate the verge Of some momentous revolution, wrought By the relentless power of Change, when his Broad bosom sweeps unceremoniously Among the chambers of the great, dealing Life’s “‘ups and downs ” with ample, liberal hand, Or, like the burning lava’s deadly stream, Buries beneath its overwhelming course The high and low—th’ oppressor and th’ opprest. Time heeds not importunities. The tears Of innocence, her secret prayers, and the Impetuous supplicating agonies Of malefactors by their own foul deeds Accurs’d, imploring opportunity To lighten conscience loaded down with crime, And crimson’d deep with vile iniquity, Hire they are launch’d compulsively away Into a vast eternity unseen, Are all alike to him—they move him not, Nor will he urge his steady measur’d course With an accelerated step. Not all The eloquence of keen solicitude, Awaken’d by the free, spontaneous burst Of grief, beneath the sure, slow, tort’ring rack Of mad’ning, wild suspense and “hope deferr’d ;” Not all the groans extorted from the breast POEMS. Of hopeless misery, encompass’d with Pale midnight watchings and long ling’ring death ; Have ever drawn from Time’s unyielding grasp One favor sought—one moment in advance. His royal delegated chart directs Unerringly to that far destin’d port Where he, to consummate his grand career, Will spread his bold insignia, laden with The destinies of countless millions, and The long-accumulated, dubious scenes, With all the blazonry of ages past, On the broad threshold of eternity. There his deep folded drapery will be Unroll’d ; and, in the waiting presence of Heaven’s legally commission’d council, all His vestments search’d, and then the angel-scribe Unfolding, leaf by leaf, that book of books— That register of every registry, Comprising all that Time has seen, or Change Accomplish’d, since they first commene’d their yet Unfinish’d tour. | What strange vicissitudes, Long shrouded in oblivion’s cumbrous fold, Will meet the ken of wond ring multitudes ! Then follows on the grand eclaircissement "Twixt Time and vast eternity. How grand, How awfully sublime the scene!’ I'd fain Accelerate both Time and Change, now much Too fleet for all the multiplicity 240 POEMS. Of this world’s cares and preparations for The world to come, to speed me to that hour When I shall witness the strange interview : And to that hour I’m destin’d. “Tis a point In our existence unavoidable. It is the great connecting link between This transient state and immortality, To which all flesh eventually must come ; Not to indulge the idler’s vacant stare, Prompted by lawless curiosity ; ‘ But deeply all associated with The scenery of that important scene. There let anticipation fondly rest, While thought, with retrospective currency, Reviews events emblazon’d with the bold And burnish’d pencillings of Time and Change. Adam, the first-created, the great Sire Of all the human race, ‘“‘ Ancient of Days,” Regain’d the favor he had forfeited By disobedience ; and ere he left The earth, assembled his posterity— His children and his children’s children, all Who were the worshippers of the Host High, And by the power and the authority Of the eternal Priesthood, which had been By holy messengers on him conferr’d, Pronoune’d prophetically blessings on The heads of his belov’d posterity. POEMS. 241 "Twas in a lovely place that truly seem’d Like the connecting link ’twixt earth and heaven, A consecrated vale where prayer and praise Had oft ascended. Sacred altars there, Burnish’d by Time, morning and evening pour’d Sweet, holy incense upward to the skies ; And there the heavenly messengers had oft Descended to associate with men, For then intelligence was not confin’d To earth. Then, principles were understood That govern’d spheres and systems far remote : Instruction’s current flow’d from angel-tongues. Man was not then the puny being we Behold him now ; nor human life the brief— The small, contracted space of seventy years That now defines our frail existence. Then The sons of Adam all were mighty men, And men that could appreciate the worth Of a‘ Thus saith the Lord ;” and Prophets were No comic sights—no strange phenomena. But all the glory of those first-born scenes Has been obliterated by the hand Of dubious Change ; and the great tourist, Time, Has thrown the mantle of forgetfulness In deep, impenetrable folds around. The records are hid up, except a few That yet, like broken shreds, are hanging on The skirts of Time. All now extant are but As a small drop to the great ocean’s bulk, Compar’d with the vast multitude that yet Must be brought forward; and their coming forth Will prove to be the great, grand master-piece Of all the works that grace the annals of Grey-headed Time. And that will comprehend ‘The restitution of all things, spoken By all the holy Prophets since the world Began.” Nature abounds with contrast ; so In human life. In those primeval days, When Change was young, and man was privileg’d To multiply his threescore years and ten, The righteous rose in might and excellence Until their understandings reach’d to heaven : The wicked, too, increas’d in wickedness, Till they became confederate with his Yet reigning majesty, the Prince of Hell. Enoch, the seventh from Adam, by a course Of strict obedience to the commands Of the Most High, became at length so much Assimilated to the character And likeness of the great I AM, and those Celestial beings that surround His throne, That the dark vail that hides the upper world From this was torn asunder, and he gaz’d On things ineffable ; and then he “ walk’d With God three hundred years ” upon the earth, And then was “ taken up,” and with him a Great company of righteous ones, which left This world so destitute of righteousness, That in process of Time corruption spread Its sable wings so formidably wide, That reformation was too impotent ; And then the deluge came with awful stride, And with o’erwhelming surges buried low The deep polluted world! But to preface That desolating work, a Prophet was Sent forth. Indeed the registry of Time Declares a warning voice has ever yet Preceded the outpouring of the wrath Of the Almighty ; and a Prophet 1s, And always has been, the forerunner of Some curse prepar’d, some dreadful overthrow, Or some dire revolution, shrouded with A vast, enormous fold of consequence. No wonder, then, that Prophets have to bear The vilest obloquy of all the vile Pour’d out upon them. Noah had to flee His native country to escape the hand Of persecution, and he was esteem’d | An artful fanatic—a pious fool. The storm came on, and Noah, safely in His ark, which for a century had been A fertile theme for jest and ridicule, In awful triumph rode securely o’er The wave-wash’d ruins of a guilty world! The waters were assuag’d—Time rode along, And his impartial sketches boldly say That human nature still remain’d unchang‘d. When famous Babel of triumphant height, In bold defiance of the elements, Look’d scornfully upon the clouds beneath, The Lord, to cripple wickedness and check Invention’s almost superhuman growth, Pour’d out confusion’s mixture to the dregs. Then man barbarian to man became ; And kin from kin, neighbor from neighbor, was Most fearfully estrang’d! Their dialect Was each to other an unmeaning sound. Then union fled—Union, the deity Almost invested with omnipotence ; And man, asunder from his fellow-man, Went forth abroad, leaving their headless tower, A speaking testimonial for Time, Of human daring and unfruitful toil. There had been Prophets, men of holy faith, Dwelling in Shinar’s plains, walking in all The righteous ordinances of the Lord, To whom He had His purposes reveal’d POEMS. Kre the unsocial curse had gone abroad ; And in obedience to divine command, A choice—a chosen, distant country found, And mutually enjoy’d man’s social gift, Thought’s free conductor—uncorrupted speech. Change kept with Time ; and dark idolatry, Like an umbrageous oak whose foliage deep Hides from the soil the life-inspiring sun, Almost uprooted the pure worship of The living God. The verdant groves were strew’'d With smoking altars, whose unholy fronts, Beneath the weight of human sacrifice, Groan’d fearfully ; while rich drink-offrings flow’d In purple currents from the streaming veins Of new-born, uncorrupted innocence, By kindred hands unsparingly pour’d out! The Lord then said to Abra’m, ‘‘ Get thee up, And leave thy father’s house, thy country, and Thy kin, and go unto a land which I, The Lord, will show thee.” Abra’m rose and went Not knowing where, safely confiding in The sacred promise of th’ Eternal God. Abra’m was righteous, and his righteousness Was cloth’d superbly with the majesty Of high intelligence. His noble mind, POEMS. Like the broad current of a wid’ning stream, With firm, spontaneous impulse, freely flowd From its coeval and immortal source. Long time a student in the Prophets’ school, His science was no pigmy—no uncouth, Unorganiz’d, ill-shapen skeleton. Egypt was then the oriental boast, And Egypt’s wisest sons were fain to sit At Abra’m’s feet, and quaff the copious stream Of rich instruction, as it freely flow’d, Like precious bev’rage, from his op’ning lips, Till their expanding minds were upward borne Through the delightful contemplation of His splendid works, and imperceptibly Became acquainted with the character And with the nature of the living God. Then adoration fill’d their swelling hearts ; And deadly scorn of former deities And senseless idols, vainly worshipp’d, stole Upon them, and they learn’d to worship Him Who made the land and sea, the heaven and earth, With worlds on worlds, systems o’er systems roll’d In splendor indescribably august. Abra’m’s researches had extended far Beyond the stretch of modern telescopes, For he could tell the times and seasons of Large planets, which our late astronomers, With all their skill, have not discover’d yet. And how was Abra’m taught? Let those reply, —————_<__ POEMS. 247 If there are those, who're prone to ridicule The subject of angelic visitants. Time linger’d not with Abra’m nor with his Posterity. His grandson, Jacob, and His children’s children were sojourners in A foreign land, and were “ entreated ill Four hundred years,” and then, with mighty hand And outstretch’d arm, Jehovah led them forth From bondage, by His servant Moses, whom He’d chosen to perform that tedious work. To stand and minister, as Moses did, "Twixt God and a rebellious multitude Of stiff-neck’d, selfish, sensual people, was An arduous business not to be desir’d— A calling not to be despis’d—a scene That’s now re-acting in these latter-days. At length they drove the heathen nations out And took possession of the promis’d land, Which God had long before by covenant Given unto Abra’m for himself and his Posterity, a sure inheritance. "Twas not until the reign of Solomon, The son of David, that Judea shone In all the pomp of glorious majesty, And with its bright, attractive influence Drew forth the high eulogiums of all The nations round about. Unrivall’d then She held among the nations of the earth A rank adorn’d with all that faith could give Or dignity create. Wisdom and wealth Were there, for there the God of Abra’m had A sanctuary. ‘There, from time to time, The glory of the Lord was seen ; and there His holy word, revealing unto men Things present, past, and future, often came. There architecture rear’d its head with bold And polish’d gracefulness. The powerful skill Of those who practis’d curious workmanship — + Both far and near found ample scope and means Uncircumscrib’d. For gold and silver there Were plenteous as the summer-morning dews Upon the beauteous, swelling bosoms of The broad, extensive prairies of the West. But Change, the curious artist, seated on The chariot in close companionship With our great hero, Time, perform’d, with his Accustom’d boldness and alacrity, An operation terribly severe Upon the sov’reignty of Israel. The kingdom was divided, and its strength Like a night vision fled. Far, far away, The captive of Assyria, the ten And a half tribes of Israel, went POEMS. ‘To keep the statutes of the Lord, which they In their own land had never kept.” Ere long Change will reveal their hiding place ; for when “The Lord shall say unto the north, Give up,” The long lost tribes of Israel will come forth In terrible array, with horses and With chariots, a powerful multitude. "Twas thus with Israel. Afterwards, the house Of Judah in captivity was led Away to Babylon ; and there the Jew, Whose firm, unconquerable spirit was Unmov'd by flattery, unaw’d by threat, Was fore’d to grace a heathen Gentile court, Whose haughty monarch with high swelling words Most daringly blasphem’d the living God : In strains like these exultingly he spoke— ‘“‘ Behold this great city, Babylon, And see what my own right hand has done ; Behold here, how my skill and wisdom shine— Let my name be extoll’d—let the praise be mine ; For my power is supreme—my dominion wide, And beneath my pavilion princes hide. Wealth yields her abundance at my desire : et the earth adore and the heavens admire. Are not these the insignia of deity ? Ah! who is a.God that is like unto me ?” POEMS. God heard the boasting exultation, and Beheld the glory of Chaldea’s king, And with His finger mark’d its boundary, And sent him forth to graze on herbage fields In humble posture, with the shepherd’s herd, Till Change had wrought a seven-years’ greedy work, And he acknowledg’d most unfeignedly, And frankly too, the reign of the Most High. Time, reckless of events, by heayen ordain’d To usher in the dread fulfilment of Ancient predictions—those strange deeds of Change Which Time’s deep mantling curtain kept conceal’d From all, save when the Spirit of the Lord, With more than mortal vision, rent the vail Of broad futurity—pursued his course. While walking in the holy statutes of The Lord, Jacob’s posterity sustain’d An elevated dignity, that far Surpass’d the splendor of the eastern world ; But when apostacy, with all its train Of deviations from the sacred laws, Swept from the Jewish nation that high tone Of character—that superhuman stamp Of strict, unyielding rectitude, they went From crime to crime, from guilt to guilt, onward Progressing, like accumulating waves, When the small streamlet to a torrent swells, POEMS. Until at length their hands were purple stain’d In the Messiah’s blood! Then, then the curse Of the Eternal God soon follow’d on ! ~ Behold them driven like scatter’d fragments of A burning wreck, when borne convulsively Abroad upon the rude contending blast ! “ Scatter'd and peel’d,” and trodden under foot, For nearly eighteen hundred years, they've been A laughing stock—a ‘ byword, and a hiss,” With all the nations of the earth, where’er The Jew has been led captive, and where long He’s groan’d beneath oppression’s heavy chain ! Change, in his passage, bore the sceptred wreath From Babylon to Persia, thence to Greece. But ere the birth of the Messiah, Rome Was crown’d the ruling mistress of the world. Rome, princely, powerful Rome, has crimson’d deep The grand, imperial, burnish’d wreath that deck’d Her lofty brow, with Christian martyrs’ blood! Where’er her haughty crescent wav’d, was pour’d In copious streams the blood of innocence. There, liberty of conscience, bath’d in gore, Groaning beneath the murd’rous iron hand Of selfish, cleric policy, expir’d, POEMS. And lay for centuries buried beneath The trammels of the “ great apostacy ;” | And persecution, with the violence | Of the tornado, when its deaf’ning crash, | Blacken’d in ruin, prostrates all that’s fair, Swept from the bosom of society The ancient Christians and the ancient faith. For men to deviate from rules by man Prescrib’d, became a crime deserving death. To crown the horrors of the carnal reign Of an apostate Priesthood, dark with crime, Boasting credentials of authority To freely traffic with the souls of men, Up rose the Inquisition, girded with Keen tort’ring racks, chains, dungeons, flames, and death ! When Luther’s thunders shook the papal chair, The ‘‘ Reformation ” boldly undertook To give a resurrection to the long Deep-buried form of Liberty. Forth came A pale, emaciated, feeble thing, Closely envelop’d in the winding sheet Of its sepulchral bed. And how unlike That noble, dignified, immortal boon Of Liberty that God bequeath’d to man, The torch that fir’d Servetus’ fun’ral pile, With a succeeding train of witnesses— Of footsteps deeply mark’d in blood and flames, Too plainly testities. Toss’d to and fro, Abus’d, insulted, and by turns caress’d, She'd neither strength nor confidence to stand Erect, till on the Western Continent Both Time and Change had urg’d their coursers past The ‘“ Revolution.” To release themselves From dread oppression, our forefathers fled Across the great Atlantic’s pathless waves. Like a rapacious hound in quest of prey, Closely the hand of tyranny pursued ! At length its rapidly increasing weight Grew insupportable, and they arose, And from their shoulders shook oppression’s yoke. That struggle seem’d like grappling life and death, And many patriotic heroes bled ! The glorious banner which so long has blest The sons and daughters of America, Was dearly purchas’d with the price of blood ; Nor yet too dear—'twas better far to die Than live in bondage with the conscience chain’d : Thus our forefathers thought ; and, phoenix lke, To crown their toil, with banner waving high, In graceful majesty arose the form Of civil and religious Liberty. In her right hand she boldly held, unsheath’d, The glittering sword of Justice. In her left, The law of Hquity and Hqual Rights. Before her mov’d, with firm and steady step, The youthful Independence. When he spoke, His speech, in strains of fearless eloquence, Like midnight thunders bursting, fell upon Oppression’s ear. Upon his crown he wore The gems of honor and integrity ; And on his breast-plate splendidly inserib’d, The patriot’s motto—Liberty or Death. Peace follow’d soon, and with her lovely smiles Awoke the minstrel’s sweetly sounding lyre, To chant far-echoing strains to Liberty ! List to a sound that flutter’d on the breeze Where first Columbia's cloud-topp’d standard rose. Ove. Fairest Spirit of the skies, Fairest child of Paradise, Now Columbia's lawful prize— Glorious Liberty. ‘Twas for thee our fathers sought, For thy sake our heroes fought, Thee our bleeding patriots bought, Precious Liberty. POEMS, Never, never cease to wave O’er the ashes of the brave— Shield, O shield the patriot’s grave, Flag of Liberty. While thy banner waves abroad, All may freely worship God, Fearless of the tyrant’s rod, Sacred Liberty. Should oppression ever dare From thy brow the wreath to tear, Righteous vengeance shall not spare Thy foes, O Liberty. Sooner than to bondage yield, Boldly in the battle-field Let the sons of freemen wield The sword for Liberty. Thus sang that noble, patriotic band Who struggl’d through the “ Revolution,” to Bequeath to generations then unborn A rich inheritance, a spotless boon. Hen vice to virtue, sometimes, tribute pays, And eastern monarchies have courteous bow’d To the star-spangled, waving ensign of Columbia's liberty : and fame has spread POEMS. i til eee To distant climes a brilliant halo round The rich-ton’d echo of her envied name. Religion, sweetly smiling, sat beneath The tolerating spire of Liberty ; And vile hypocrisy, no longer, cloth’d In forms, impos’d the worship of the Lord. Such was our country in her halcyon days, And such we'd fain believe she still remains. But no: a cloud o’erspread the stars that erac’d Her burnish’d standard, when oppression pour’d Upon a persecuted people in The West, the influence of his scathing hand. Time’s record is not clos’d upon those scenes, And facts protrude too boldly prominent To need a prompter here. Those tragic scenes Awake the lyre, but not to chant such deeds Of noble patriotism as twin’d the wreath Of never-fading laurels round the heads. | Of our forefathers. - Yes, the lyre awakes, And in low notes of plaintive eloquence Breathes forth a tone of suffering and distress. Ah! hear Columbia’s noblest children sing Of rights usurp’d—of grievance unredress’d ! POEMS. @ve for the fourth of Julp. Shall we commemorate the day Whose genial influence has pass’d o’er ? Shall we our hearts’ best tribute pay Where heart and feelings are no more ? Shall we commemorate the day, With Freedom’s ensign waving high, Whose blood-stain’d banner ’s furl’d away— Whose Rights, whose Freedom has gone by? Should we, when gasping neath its wave, Exxtol the beauties of the sea— Or, lash’d upon fair Freedom’s grave, Proclaim the strength of Liberty ? It is heartrending mockery ! We'd sooner laugh ‘midst writhing pain, Than chant the songs of Liberty Beneath oppression’s galling chain ! Columbia’s glory is a theme That with our life’s warm pulses grew : But ah! ’tis fled, and, like a dream, Its ghost is flutt’ring in our view! Her dying groans, her fun’ral knell, We've heard; for ah! we've had to fly! And now, alas! we know too well The days of Freedom have gone by ! 258 POEMS. Protection faints and Justice cowers— Redress is slumb'ring on the heath ; And ’tis in vain to lavish flowers Upon our country’s fading wreath ! Better implore His aid divine, Whose arm can make His people free, Than decorate the hollow shrine Of our departed Liberty ! How long, Columbia, must thy children weep o’er wrongs And suffrings unreveng’d? How long must they Entreat in vain for justice and redress ? How long, ye sons of Freedom, will you sit, Secure and unconcernedly, beneath The shelt’ring tree of Liberty, and see Its branches one by one thus torn away ? How long disinterestedly behold, With reckless gaze, your fellow citizens, Beneath our Constitution’s sacred fold, Robb’d of those Rights most strongly guaranteed To freemen’s heirs by Freedom’s holy laws ? Although at present you may feel secure Beneath the screen of popularity, Remember, Change, dealer in ‘‘ ups and downs ” Of human life, is not outstripp’d by Time. POEMS. Corruption does not die an easy death. Oppression, dandled and caress’d awhile; May grow too powerful for your idle sport. Therefore, defend our Constitution from The weak’ning influence of lawless mobs. Henceforth, preserve inviolate those laws Which have been basely trampl’d under foot, Lest, by and by, the growing spirit of Oppression, unsubdued, should aim at you Its withering blast, and find you shelterless— The Constitution broken, and its laws Made ineffectual through your own neglect. Then, then youll rue the day you mutely sat, And, by your approbative silence, gave A tacit licence to atrocious deeds, Which cast an everlasting stigma on The towering genius of our country’s fame ; Nor rose, as your brave fathers’ sons should rise, And in behalf of suffring innocence Nobly espous’d the Cause of Liberty. But busy Change must verify all things That were predicted of the latter-days, Ere Time will spread his grand memorial on The threshold of Eternity, and stand Himself a witness for the accuser and The accus’d, before the great tribunal where The nations of the earth will all be judg’d, And every man according to his works. 260 POEMS. Eternal God, roll on thy glorious work— Speed the accomplishment of those events By all thy holy Seers of every age Foretold, although thy Saints must be ‘‘ worn out,” Until the great “‘ Ancient of Days” shall come— “ Until the kingdom, and the greatness of The kingdom under the whole heaven, shall be Given to the people of the Saints of the Most High.” Then Zion shall arise and shine Clear as the noon-day sun. Her righteousness, Bright as a lamp that burneth, shall go forth ; Her towers shall reach to heaven; her name shall be “4 terror and a praise” in all the earth. The earth, renew’d, no longer shall produce The thorn and thistle and the poisonous herb ; But fragrant flowers and vines and luscious fruits Will grow spontaneous and abundantly. The wolf, the tiger, lion, and the bear, With lowing herds and tender bleating flocks In harmony will graze ; and naught shall hurt, And naught destroy, in all God’s holy mount. Then shall the knowledge of the Lord o’erspread The earth, as waters cover the great deep. For Change, with his resuscitating powers And his restoratives, will renovate From her accurs'd, degenerated state, And, clothing her in rich, primeval robes, POEMS. Prepare the earth for her grand Coronet— The great Messiah and his glorious train. NATIONAL SONG. Thrones, Kingdoms, Dominions, and all Institutions Of human erection, are bound to decay ; But the heavens introduce, in this last dispensation, Their own order of things, that will not pass away. Chorus. Lo! here in the midst of the snow-cover’d mountains, We call to all nations—all people forsooth ; Come, come to our Standard, the Deseret Standard,’ The Standard of Freedom, Salvation, and Truth. The Saints hold the Priesthood, which from the be- ginning Existed with God, and on earth will remain, Kstablishing liberty, peace, and salvation— Preparing the way for Messiah to reign. Chorus—Lo! here, &c. All hell has combin’d with this world’s bitter hatred, Usurp’d man’s best rights, all our freedom supprest, From place to place driven us, and murder’d our Pro- phet, And homeless we wander’d while poor and distrest. Chorus—Lo! here, &c. Brigham Young, with a band of brave Pioneer vet’rans, Like Abra’m instructed, here found us a home, In these deep western wilds, amid snow-cover’d moun- tains, Where th’ wild cactus blooms, and rude savages roam. Chorus—Lo ! here, &e. All hail to the day they saluted this Valley— Day sacred to mem'ry, to Liberty dear : While th’ judgments of God are pour’d forth on the nations, Truth, Equity, Justice, and Peace resort here. Chorus—Lo! here, &c. The cactus our emblem, we're strong through oppression ; In exile our Banner is broadest unfurl’d— When robb’d we grow wealthy—the blood of our martyrs Will plant the pure Standard and challenge the world. Chorus—Lo ! here, &c. POEMS. RAILROAD STANZAS. Sung at a Meeting of the Citizens of G. S. L. City and the surrounding country, for the purpose of presenting a Memorial to Congress in re- lation to the Pacific Railway, Jan. 31, 1854. In Jehovah's arm we trusted ; To the wilderness He led : Lo! the desert now is blooming, As the ancient Prophets said : Where the Saints of God are gather’d, Where fair Freedom’s peans swell, Where Columbia’s glorious banner Waves o’er mountain-top and dell. Haste, O haste, construct a Railway Where the vales of Ephraim bloom ; Cast ye up, cast up a highway ~ Where ‘“ swift messengers ” will come : Soon we'll see the proud Atlantic With the broad Pacific join’d, Through the skill of swift conveyance, Leaving distance all behind. Infant Utah, strong in effort, Claims—she boasts, our country’s braves ; POEMS. For her sons have form’d the climax "Tween the east and western waves ; And we soon shall hail as neighbors Those who dwell in lands afar, As they move across the sage-plains On the swiftly-gliding car. We shall be no longer outcasts From the country whence we came : Come, O come, and here we'll bless you, And exalt Jehovah’s name. Each improvement, all that’s useful, Every art in righteousness, Will conduce to favor Zion— Zion will all nations bless. POEMS. 265 NATIONAL ANTHEM. Lo! an Ensign of Peace on the tops of the mountains— A Banner, a Banner is widely unfurl’d : Hark! the heralds are sounding a loud proclamation— Hear, hear the glad message go forth to the world. Ho, ho! to the States, to the Kingdoms and Empires, Whose fabrics are tott’ring and ready to fall : Ho, ho! to all people of every religion, Art, trade, or profession, the great and the small. Here is Freedom, glorious F'reedom— Freedom Gods and men hold dear ; The white-crested Eagle has fled to the mountains, The Genius of Liberty follow’d us here. The people of Joseph, the Prophet of God, Are here : we are free from oppression’s rod. Hosanna, hosanna! to God: He has broke From off our necks the Gentile yoke, And has given us a government pure and free, And we breathe the sweet air of Liberty, And rejoice in the blessings our forefathers won When they fought, bravely fought with Washington. Here intelligence’ richest fountains Flow, but not from the snow-topp’d mountains— They flow from heaven ; Men of God by revelation Teach the precepts of salvation Freely given ; Eternal principles now unfold— Jehovah speaks as in days of old; And we'll shout hosanna, till nations afar Shall awake to the sound, and follow the star, The star of Peace, which o’er Deseret Arose in full splendor, and never will set. TO ELDER JOHN KAY, On a Mission to Great Britain. The Spirit of Truth will direct you, And comfort your heart, while away— The angels of God will protect you From all that would harm, brother Kay. You've left a lov’d home in the mountains, To work in the vineyard awhile— To lift up a loud voice of warning On your dear native “ ocean-girt isle.” Though Satan, at times, seeks to gather Black tempest-clouds thick round your feet, And hosts of the spirits of darkness Should combine your designs to defeat, Shrink not ; but, with unyielding purpose, Stand forth and determine to do Whatsoever ’s requir’d by the Priesthood, And the Lord will pour blessings on you. Be humble and faithful, and fear not, And youll overcome all, brother Kay ; And wisdom of thought will be given you, To confound what opposers may say. The great day of the Lord is approaching, When the faithful will reap their reward ; In absence, you've friends who remember You, here in the “‘ House of the Lord.” Hovsr oF THE LoRpD, Sept. 7TH, 1855. TO JOSEPH SCOFIELD, On his leaving for England. Go forth, brother Joseph, go forth and be blest ; May the Spirit of Jesus abide in your breast, And rich draughts from the fountain of wisdom bestow— May its influence attend you wherever you go. Though you go among strangers, the Lord will provide Friends with hearts full of kindness, who'll stand by your side : If you ever keep humble, and seek to do right, You'll be cloth’d with salvation, with knowledge and might. O then go and be blest, and your mission fulfil : Heretofore you've been faithful, you'll be faithful still ; And the angels of God will your footsteps attend, And you'll safely return crown’d with joy in the end. GREAT Satt LAKE City, Sept. 7TH, 1855. TO ELDERS F. D. RICHARDS, J. A. YOUNG, W. H. KIMBALL, J. FERGUSON, J. A. LITTLE, G. D. GRANT, AND E. ELLSWORTH, Missionaries to Great Britain. Brothers Edmund, George, James, William, Joseph, and Franklin, When the times of your missions are ended abroad, Come, come to your beautiful home in the mountains— To the chambers of Israel—the Zion of God. Chorus. All the faithful in Zion most heartily bless you, And to share-in home-blessings we wish you to come ; Here are fathers and mothers, fond sisters and brothers, Dear wives and dear children to welcome you home. May God speed you with safety across the broad ocean, Preserve you from tempests and pestilence too, Give you prosperous passages up the two rivers, And then over the plains—bless your journey all through. Chorus—All the faithful, &. 270 You've been blest through the power of the holy Anointing, Through the faith and the prayers of the servants of God ; And because you’ve been humble the Lord has sus- tain’d you, You have honor'd your callings and Priesthood abroad. Chorus—All the faithful, &c. Great Sart Lake Ciry, Serr. 107TH, 1855. LIVERPOOL : PRINTED BY R. 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