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THK 
 
 Poetical Writings 
 
 OF 
 
 ORSON F. WHITNEY. 
 
 FOEl^S j<>L]NriD F^OETIC P=':Z^03E. 
 
 COMPILED AND PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 " But far on the deep there are billows 
 That never shall break on the beach ; 
 
 And I have heard songs in the Silence, 
 That never shall float into speech ; 
 
 And I have had dreams in the Valley, 
 Too lofty for language to reach." 
 
 — Rvnn. 
 
 JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR OFFICE, 
 
 Salt Lake City, Utah. 
 1889. 
 

 Jop-yrish-t jPLpplie^d F'oi 
 
FR.EFACE. 
 
 §T various times durinij;- the past dozen years 
 T or more — the period covered by my ertorts m 
 the Hterary field, I have been advised, even impor- 
 tuned, by well-meaning friends, to gather up the scat- 
 tered, and, as I fear, withered leaves that have fallen 
 from my tree of poesy, and weave them into a gar- 
 land ; in other words, to publish my poems in a book. 
 To act upon this suggestion, while grateful for the 
 spirit which prompted it, I have hitherto been loth; 
 for, although a lover of poetry, and an occasional 
 writer of rhymes, I have never deemed myself a poet, 
 nor imagined that any production of mine would en- 
 title its author to even the lowest pedestal, or hum- 
 blest nook, in the "poet's corner" of public opinion. 
 However, it is now my purpose to print; and 
 though I may not hope to win for my verse favor 
 and recognition, such as are accorded to and merited 
 by productions of poetic genius, it may be these 
 humble songs will help dispel the dense cloud of prej- 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 udice and misapprehension hanging Hke a pall over 
 the true history and character of my people, and 
 show that the author of these lines, if he cannot 
 create poetry, can at least admire it, and linger if 
 not follow in the footsteps of those whose divine 
 mission is to make the world more lovely and more 
 lovable by producing it. That the name "Mormon" 
 is not necessarily a synonym for coarseness and car- 
 nality, need not be told to those cognizant of the 
 truth. But what a vast mine of poetry, no less than 
 of science and philosophy, lies hidden in the mystic 
 depths of what is mistermed " Mormonism," neither 
 the wise world, nor we ourselves, I trow, are half 
 aware. A few golden nuggets dug from earth, a few 
 precious pearls fished up as from caves of the sea, 
 are all we have, so far, to bespeak buried treasures 
 illimitable and untold. 
 
 If most of the following poems are recognized as 
 religious, and stigmatized as such by some, I shall 
 neither deny "the soft impeachment." nor apologize 
 to the sapient critic who fain would place outside the 
 pale of poesy what I esteem to be its very source and 
 origin. All poetry is religious, whether sacred or 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 secular, and whatsoever is irreligious, unchaste, unjust, 
 unheroic,* untrue in spirit, is not, and cannot be, true 
 poetry. God is love ; love is poetry, and poetry is 
 religion. 
 
 Nor need it be said, save to the uninformed, 
 that all poetry is not expressed in verse. The es- 
 sence of poetry is in thought and sentiment, not 
 rhythm and rhyme, though these are a beautiful 
 means of embellishment. Many a verse, perfect in 
 rhyme and meter, has little or no poetry, while 
 prose is ofttimes replete with it. 
 
 The contents of this little volume are mostly ar- 
 ranged in the order of their production, and, with 
 slio-ht revision, are " sent to their account with all 
 their imperfections on their heads." They were written 
 literally "as the Spirit moved," at divers times and 
 places, in various moods and conditions, with little 
 or no thoup-ht save to vent the feelinors of a heart 
 where Poesy, though in humble garb, and perchance 
 with tuneless lyre, has built herself a shrine to wor- 
 ship God. 
 
 The Author. 
 December, 1889. 
 
COnSTTHlHSTTS. 
 
 The Poet's Prayer .,•..... 9 
 
 The Past ......•••• H 
 
 A Voice From an Absent One ...... 12 
 
 Lakeside Musings . . . . . . . • 16 
 
 The Land of Shinehah ........ 20 
 
 Lines on the Exodus ....... 29 
 
 The Women of the Everlasting Covenant . . . .33 
 
 In the Canyon ......... 45 
 
 The Portrait ......... 47 
 
 A Monody ......... 48 
 
 Sorrow's Lesson ......••• 49 
 
 Wit and Wisdom ........ 50 
 
 A Second Daniel ......... 50 
 
 Love's Adieu ........* 55 
 
 Lines Written in a Lady's Album ...... 56 
 
 Lines to Luella ........ 56 
 
 An Acrostic .......... 57 
 
 Love and Friendship ....... 57 
 
 A Silent Sorrow ......... 59 
 
 Aristocracy ......... 60 
 
 Judge Not .......... 61 
 
 Inscription on the Monument of the Martyr, Joseph Standing 62 
 
 The Jubilee of Zion ........ 63 
 
 The Natal Day of Liberty ...... 74 
 
 The Ancient of the Mount ....... 84 
 
 O Tempora! O Mores! ....... 93 
 
 The Age's Need ......... 102 
 
 Home .......... 106 
 
 An Evening on the Atlantic . . . . . .109 
 
 At Byron's Birthplace ...... 110 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 Page. 
 
 "Thy Will be Done." .....••• 112 
 
 What is Life? ....••••• H^ 
 
 The Chosen . . . . . . • • • • H^ 
 
 Life's Lesson .......•• 116 
 
 Christ Leaving the Pr^torium ...... 118 
 
 Lines on Leaving England ...... 128 
 
 The Sea's Solemnity .....••• 130 
 
 Overthrow op Gog and Magog ...... 131 
 
 Edward Hunter . ........ 133 
 
 immanuel--a christmas idyl ...... 136 
 
 Stanzas for Music ........ 142 
 
 Captured but not Conquered ...... 147 
 
 New Year, 1886 149 
 
 Lines for a Mebiorial to a Lady Friend .... 151 
 
 The Battle Hymn of Israel ....... 152 
 
 Poets and Poetry ........ 154 
 
 Education .......... 168 
 
 Truth .......... 169 
 
 Truth and Tradition ........ 170 
 
 Enoch .......... 171 
 
 Ararat .......... 173 
 
 Joseph .......... 174 
 
 Lehi ........••• 176 
 
 Then and Now ........ 178 
 
 The Mountain and the Vale ...... 183 
 
 "Lib" 
 
 Waiting . ........ 
 
 Zion's Future ......••• 192 
 
 The Redemption op Zion ....... 195 
 
 Christ and the Earth . . . . 
 
 Christmas Eve Reflections ...... 
 
 Louie . . . . . • • 
 
 Julia .......••• 
 
 185 
 
 187 
 
 196 
 200 
 203 
 205 
 
 Thought's Martyrdom ....... 207 
 
POEN/IS. 
 
 THE POET'S PRAYER. 
 
 •OD of my fathers! Friend of human-kind! 
 ^ Almighty molder of creative mind, 
 That sitt'st enthroned aloft from mortal ken, 
 Showering thy mercies on the sons of men ! 
 
 Thou who, of old, unloosed the prophet's tongue, 
 While Daniel prophesied, while David sung; 
 That sayest to all — oh, simple, pleasing task — 
 'Tf any lack for wisdom, let him ask;" — 
 If prayer like mine find favor in thy sight. 
 If I have loved and lono-ed for wisdom's lig-ht. 
 And thou, to whom no creature cries in vain. 
 Hast deemed my soul deserving care or pain, 
 To thee, my Father, hands and voice I lift, 
 And crave of thee. Almighty God, a gift. 
 
 Not worldly wealth, though wealth of worlds be thine 
 Nor gilded rank, 'mong human worms to shine ; 
 For wealth might fail, and rank might purchased be, 
 But not the guerdon I would win from thee. 
 
lO THE POETS PRAYER. 
 
 Be thou my muse ! None other would I know, 
 Eternal Fount of all inspiring flow, 
 Whose voice it was bade seer of Patmos "write" 
 Such things as ne'er could mortal mind indite. 
 Or, grander than old ocean's glorious swell. 
 Rolled through Isaiah's themes on Israel. 
 On whose high altar flames the sacred fire, 
 Whose vivid rays inventive dreams inspire, 
 Unhonored oft, yet evermore the same, 
 Omnific light that lumines earth with fame. 
 
 On bended knee before that altar now, 
 
 In Jesus' mighty name I meekly bow; 
 
 Great God ! give ear; judge thou my heart's intent, 
 
 For I am weak, but thou Omnipotent. 
 
 While o'er my task in feeble frame I bend. 
 
 Be thou my guide, my counselor, my friend ; 
 
 Teach me true gold to separate from dross, 
 
 And count for gain what many scorn as loss. 
 
 Thou who endowedst me with receptive soul. 
 O'er all its powers possess me of control. 
 From off my mind remove each hampering coil. 
 Or image vain that lingers but to soil. 
 Let heavenly thought descend as Hermon's dews, 
 With loftier themes my thinking to infuse. 
 
THE PAST. I I 
 
 My fainting soul with fresh aspiring fill, 
 
 Its every wish submissive to thy will ; 
 
 Its main desire to magnify thy laws, 
 
 Its crowning aim thy Kingdom and thy cause. 
 
 Roll on my days responsive to thy rule, 
 This tongue thine oracle, this pen thy tool ; 
 Designed to soar, or doomed to lowly plod — 
 Amanuensis of the mind of God. 
 
 London, January, 1882. 
 
 THE PAST. 
 
 JITHEN daylight fades beyond the darkened west, 
 
 And nature sinks upon her couch of rest. 
 When heaven's dew-drops bathe the verdant sward, 
 And Luna's beams the silent hours guard. 
 Far backward into shadow-land I cast 
 A pensive mind to glean the withered past. 
 
 The past with all its faded hopes and fears, 
 
 Its vanished joys and sorrows, smiles and tears, 
 
 A sky where sun and shadow find their place, 
 
 A mirror giving back a dual face ; 
 
 Where e'en our sorrows seem a welcome sight. 
 
 And joys reflect with twice their former light. 
 
12 A VOICE FROM AN ABSENT ONE. 
 
 A magic charm in retrospection dwells, 
 And lays the soul beneath its dreamy spells ; 
 The present may be happier and bright, 
 The future promise more of joy and light, 
 But not the pleasures of to-day's security, 
 Nor fancy's fairy dream — futurity, 
 Can vie the mystic charm so sweetly cast 
 When musing on the shadows of the past. 
 
 A VOICE FROM AN ABSENT ONE. 
 
 ViyHE wintry day, descending to its close, 
 ^^ Invites all wearied nature to repose. 
 
 And shades of night are falling dense and fast 
 Like sable curtains closing o'er the past. 
 
 Pale through the gloom the newly-fallen snow 
 Wraps in its shroud the silent earth below. 
 
 As though, in mercy, God had spread the pall, 
 A symbol of forgiveness to us all. 
 
 I cannot go to rest, but linger still 
 In meditation at my window-sill. 
 
A VOICE FROM AN ABSENT ONE. 1 3 
 
 While, like the twinklino- stars in heaven's dome, 
 Come, one by one, sweet memories of home. 
 
 A flood of thought which struggled to be ff'ee. 
 Now opens wide the gates of memory ; 
 
 Love lights the way, and, guided by its beam. 
 My soul floats on the surface of the stream. 
 
 And wouldst thou ask me where my fancy roves, 
 To reproduce the happy scenes it loves? 
 
 Where hope and memory together dwell 
 And paint the pictured beauties that I tell? 
 
 Far, far away among the western hills. 
 And gardens watered by the mountain rills, 
 
 Where giant peaks uprear their heads so high. 
 Their cloud-capt summits seem to pierce the sky; 
 
 Where smiling valleys from the desert torn, 
 Redeemed, are waving with their golden corn ; 
 
 Where sweet religion in its purity 
 Invites all men to its security. 
 
 There is my home, the spot I love so well, 
 Whose worth and beauty pen nor tongue can tell. 
 
14 A VOICE FROM AN ABSENT ONE. 
 
 Away beyond the prairies of the west, 
 Where exiled Saints in solitude were blest ; 
 
 Where industry the seal of wealth has set 
 Amid the peaceful vales of Deseret. 
 
 Unheeding still the fiercest blasts that blow, 
 With tops encrusted by eternal snow, 
 
 Her peaks that towering shield the tender sod, 
 Stand, types of freedom, reared by nature's God, 
 
 The wintry snows now melt in summer's beams, 
 And from the canyons rush the crystal streams. 
 
 Divinity the bounteous means supplies, 
 A desert to reclaim arid fertilize. 
 
 The wilderness that naught before would yield. 
 Is now become a fertile, fruitful field ; 
 
 Where roamed at will the savage Indian bands. 
 In pride and wealth a peaceful city stands. 
 
 And souls that seek the truth are welcome there, 
 All followers of Christ their bounty share; 
 
 And all who cast base prejudice away. 
 And let impartial judgment bear the sway. 
 
A VOICE FROM AN ABSENT ONE. 1 5 
 
 There find a virtuous people, vilified ; 
 Freemen, to whom are freemen's rights denied. 
 
 Sweet mountain home ! Wide o'er the sinfiil world, 
 Though persecution's rage is at thee hurled. 
 
 Thou shalt endure — for Truth is thy defense, 
 While waste thy foes with war and pestilence. 
 
 Heed not the slander of the evil tongue, 
 Nor fear the hand of hatred o'er thee hung. 
 
 Is it not writ: "The weak of earth I take. 
 The power, the wisdom of the world to shake?" 
 
 Then let thy faith as Job's and Jacob's be ; 
 God is thy friend, and great thy destiny. 
 
 Plymouth, Pa., 
 
 Dece7tiher, i8j6. 
 
1 6 LAKESIDE MUSINGS. 
 
 LAKESIDE MUSINGS. 
 
 "I" STOOD on Erie's foam-washed strand, 
 J And watched the ripples beat 
 Upon the bed of golden sand 
 That glistened at my feet. 
 
 Ripe autumn's yellow-burning sun 
 Blazed o'er the sea-o-irt west, 
 
 But lingered, ere his race was run. 
 To gild each snowy crest 
 
 With liquid fire, in crescents bright. 
 
 And dancing on the sea 
 Like airy sylph, or water sprite, 
 
 In mirthful revelry. 
 
 No cloud was there, the bending sky, 
 
 So clear and purely blue, 
 Appeared reflected from on high 
 
 To lend the wave its hue ; 
 
 Which, answering the ardent eod 
 That kissed it with his beams, 
 
 As down the west in fire he rode. 
 Threw back a million gleams. 
 
 The breeze. Dame Nature's telephone, 
 Swept by in low refrain. 
 
LAKESIDE MUSINGS. 1 7 
 
 Like leaves, in tremblino- monotone, 
 Responding to the rain. 
 
 And sweeter notes to listening ear — 
 Though in an unknown tongue — 
 
 Than came to me in accents clear, 
 I ween were never sune. 
 
 Unknown? Nay, most familiar song 
 
 Sweet nature's music is, 
 To all whose thoughts, in tuneful throng. 
 
 Blend with her melodies ; 
 
 Aeolian tidings from afar, 
 
 Of other lands and skies; 
 Of friends, of home and kindred dear, 
 
 And all that true hearts prize. 
 
 Upon the wings of memory 
 
 The pictures come and go. 
 Like falling snow-flakes, covered by 
 
 Fresh coming falls of snow ; 
 
 Or stranded waves that others chase. 
 
 Each, bearing on its breast 
 A shell or treasure to its place. 
 
 Forever sinks to rest. 
 
LAKESIDE MUSINGS. 
 
 How tenderly the pensive mind 
 Awakes the slumbering past, 
 
 In by-gone shadow scenes to find 
 The joys that could not last! 
 
 And, like our wakine memories 
 Of pictures viewed in dreams, 
 
 Though near the faded vision is, 
 How far away it seems? 
 
 How, ever, is life's history 
 Evolving constant change ! 
 
 How rife with new-born mystery, 
 As fickle-lived as stranee ! 
 
 & 
 
 Each fleeting day has its tomorrow. 
 Each pleasure has a sister sorrow, 
 And hours of future peace remain 
 To heal the wounded heart aeain. 
 
 & 
 
 As time rolls on in swift routine. 
 Each phase alternately is seen ; 
 And yet it seems as though distress 
 Were longer lived than happiness. 
 
 For while our sorrows lingering stay, 
 Like clouds that hover o'er the day, 
 
LAKESIDE MUSINGS. ig> 
 
 Our happy moments soon are past, 
 "Too beautiful," indeed, "to last." 
 
 But thoughts Hke these must buried be — 
 Their sadness has no claim on me — • 
 Away amid some by-gone scene, 
 Their epitaph: "It might have been." 
 
 For time has taught my yielding heart 
 To kiss the rod, how keen the smart ; 
 Nor after fruit forbidden may we yearn, 
 For all we have is all we truly earn. 
 
 Old Erie ! on thy golden-sanded shore, 
 
 Where wavelets speak, or sullen breakers roar,. 
 
 Where hurricanes rush by in furious tone, 
 
 Or evening zephyrs breathe in gentle moan. 
 
 Beneath the bending verdure of the woods. 
 
 High tossing heads bedecked in sylvan hoods. 
 
 Far from the crowded streets of busy town, 
 
 I find a spirit answering my own. 
 
 I hear a voice of moving eloquence — 
 
 The music of a strange intelligence ; 
 
 I linger 'neath the magic of its spell, 
 
 And feel the thinofs that lanaua^e cannot tell. 
 
 Mentor Plains, Ohio, 
 
 November, iSyy. 
 
20 THE LAND OF SHINEHAH. 
 
 THE LAND OF SHINEHAH. 
 
 The writer of the Poem is represented as contemplating the Kirtland of to-day and 
 contrasting it with its condition forty years ago. 
 
 O^NTHRONED upon the verdure-covered hills, 
 
 Kissed by the dews that feed her gushing rills, 
 Wooed by the waves afar on Erie's strand. 
 Is Shinehah, the fair and favored land. 
 The cradle of a nation thou hast been ; 
 The rise of Zion's glory thou hast seen ; 
 A Pentecost, a Prophet to thee sent, 
 And later still, a people's banishment. 
 Awake, my muse ! let soaring numbers flow, 
 Leave poorer themes of story far below, 
 Let exiled Israel's cause my soul inspire 
 To write with burning zeal and pen of fire. 
 
 Full forty changing years have rolled away 
 
 Since garnered Ephraim held his moral sway 
 
 O'er Shinehah, the primal offering 
 
 Of nations sown to Israel's gathering ; 
 
 Since Babylon her prison-bound gave up, 
 
 Since ransomed souls first knew her poisoned cup. 
 
 And knowing, spurned the draught, flung off the yoke 
 
 Of galling Mystery, so long bespoke, 
 
THE LAND OF SHINEHAH. 2 1 
 
 And leavinor all but trust in Abram's God, 
 With steadfast hold upon the "Iron Rod," 
 In emigrating concourse westward poured 
 To swell the growing army of the Lord. 
 To rear an holy Temple to His name, 
 To brave the storm of hatred and of blame. 
 Attending aye the labors of the good, 
 With patience, hope and saintly fortitude. 
 To clear the way for myriads' increase — 
 A prelude heralding the Reign of Peace — 
 And onward press to that eternal goal 
 Whose end gives mortal part immortal whole. 
 
 O Time, h 'W well thy wonder-working power 
 Hath wrought the changes of the present hour! 
 How ill this drooping picture, lone and sere. 
 Declares the brighter past that once was here. 
 As some fresh landscape withered to a waste 
 By torrid-blazing Sol's imperious haste. 
 Or summer's forest bloom in autumn seen, 
 So brown and wrinkled its erst joyous green, 
 The phase is one for introversive minds, 
 Whose selfish melancholy strangely finds 
 A comfort in discomfort, woe in bliss, 
 And sweet communion in a scene like this. 
 
J22 THE LAND OF SHINEHAH. 
 
 I Stand upon the summit of a hill ; 
 
 The evening shades, descending cold and still, 
 
 Are folding in the sable pall of night 
 
 The twilight beauties fading on the sight. 
 
 But far away, in colors warm and true. 
 
 My vivid fancy sees another view 
 
 Rise clear and bright upon the mental gaze. 
 
 Like wakened memories of forgotten days. 
 
 Far down the vista lined by two-score years 
 
 The grander panorama's front appears, 
 
 A movinof vision on the senses cast, 
 
 A glowing present of the withered past. 
 
 I see a great and growing multitude. 
 From four extremes of earthly finitude, 
 From climes remote and islands of the sea. 
 Here linked in love and faith's fraternity. 
 A brotherhood peculiar, tried and true, 
 Of form and feature various to view. 
 Of natures different, yet aye the same 
 In spirit, faith and love for Jesus' name. 
 "From every nation under heaven's sun!" — 
 The prophecy's fulfillment is begun. 
 And these, the scattered sheep of Israel's band, 
 Recalled and gathered out from every land. 
 'The lively Frank, the sober-eyed Teuton, 
 
THE LAND OF SHINEHAH. 23 
 
 The Gael, the hardy sons of Albion, 
 
 The sea-born Norse, Helvetia's mountaineers, 
 
 Italia's peasantry and Wales' colliers, 
 
 The Celt, the hero of Sarmatia's plain, 
 
 The Swede, the Muscovite, the blue-eyed Dane.* 
 
 And, last to mention, but not least to fame. 
 
 The nobles chosen in fair Freedom's name. 
 
 Elect of Puritanic nerve and source. 
 
 The life of liberty, the strength of force, 
 
 America's true souls, the patriot blood 
 
 Cementing fast the bonds of brotherhood. 
 
 One form, of nature's proud and perfect mold. 
 The noble shepherd of a chosen fold. 
 Now towers aloft in unassuming pride. 
 Above the mass that throngs on every side. 
 And seems to rule the tenor of their ways. 
 E'en as the sun illumines with its rays 
 The multi-varied leaves of autumn woods. 
 His countenance, upon the multitudes, 
 So placid, smiling, gentle and benign, 
 With equal love on all appears to shine. 
 To him they look for counsel and advice, 
 
 * Here the vision is somewhat in advance of the fact. The tide of Israel's emi- 
 •gration from foreign shores did not set in until after the removal of the Church from 
 Kirtland. O. F. W. 
 
24 THE LAND OF SHINEHAH. 
 
 For him, If need, e'en life would sacrifice. 
 
 With him they stand, their truest earthly friend. 
 
 And vow to cleave unfaltering to the end. 
 
 No marvel this, If once the truth be told ; 
 
 The shepherd's name, who leads his Master's fold, 
 
 Where living water from the Fountain plays. 
 
 Is Joseph, Prophet of the Latter Days. 
 
 A name well known to all, and honored well 
 
 Where'er the ransomed sons of Ephralm dwell, 
 
 Where'er prediction's pages are believed. 
 
 Where'er the gospel message Is received. 
 
 Restorer of the long-forgotten light 
 
 To nations walking In the glooms of night; 
 
 The "man unlearned," revealing mysteries 
 
 That still confound the wisdom of the wdse ; 
 
 "Choice seer" brought forth from Joseph's priestly line. 
 
 To hold on earth the keys of power divine. 
 
 To gather Israel, as long foretold 
 
 By all the prophets and the seers of old. 
 
 I look again, the vision still remains ; 
 In deepening night its glowing color gains. 
 The masses now, In busy working show. 
 Like honey-bees, are moving to and fro. 
 The fruits of brawny arm and sturdy will 
 
THE LAND OF SHINEHAH. 25 
 
 Are manifest on meadow, grove and hill, 
 Where industry, the Mormon's honest pride. 
 With peace and plenty, smiles on every side. 
 The soil is tilled, a city planned and laid. 
 Roads, bridges built, and dwellings made; 
 The poor from foreign lands still thronging come, 
 To find in Zion's heart a "welcome home," 
 Where genius unfettered, faith as free, 
 May flourish in a land of liberty. 
 And lo ! where yonder walls in triumph rise, 
 A Temple lifts its spire into the skies ; 
 The House of God, erected by His Saints, 
 A link that binds, by holy ordinance. 
 Empyrean hosts with creatures of the earth. 
 Where mortal vows take on immortal worth. 
 All nature smiles to see — the heavens shake 
 For Israel's good, and things Ifhe prophets spake 
 In ancient time, are here in part fulfilled, 
 God's word and Ephraim's fortunes reconciled. 
 
 Is this the end? Ah, no; what history 
 Of godly lives in Christ didst ever see, 
 Whose chronicles fail ever to record 
 The answering fulness of prophetic word? 
 Will persecution's fire e'er cease to burn. 
 
26 THE LAND OF SHINEHAH. 
 
 While devils rage, and friends to traitors turn? 
 While Satan's guile in lurking ambush waits? 
 While Babylon, fatal power, predominates? 
 E'en now is seen the gathering thunder-cloud. 
 And heard is hatred breathing slanders loud, 
 Treason and spite their horrid fangs disclose, 
 Tried, trusted friends are turned to bitter foes. 
 The scales of Justice, on unequal poise 
 Are held by Prejudice ; the law destroys 
 The purpose of its forming; lawless mobs. 
 Whose violence the name of "justice" robs, 
 Professing law, bid honest law defiance. 
 And legal powers prove the rogue's reliance. 
 Saints' lives and fortunes stand in jeopardy. 
 Though peaceful toilers in a land of liberty ; 
 False accusations laid and charges sworn. 
 Cause Zion's heart to bleed. Her people mourn. 
 The storm increases to a tempest now. 
 E'en bravest spirits bend beneath its blow ; 
 Some bear in patience for the Gospel's sake, 
 But many, fearing man, its cause forsake. 
 Vexatious suits, and threats of violence 
 Are urged on unoffending innocence ; 
 Till, harassed, weak, and worn with ceaseless strife. 
 The Prophet flies in haste to save his life. 
 
THE LAND OF SHINEHAH, 2/ 
 
 Now mobocratic triumph is complete, 
 And persecution's fires at fervent heat, 
 While fraud and jealous hatred, joining hands, 
 Are scattering wide the flaming firebrands. 
 
 Look ! student o'er the annals of the past. 
 Where history remolds its former cast; 
 See trao-edies of ancient time rehearsed — 
 
 o 
 
 A nation ''peeled and scattered" from the first — 
 And know this truth — where'er the chosen dwell, 
 Aggressive swarm the hosts of death and hell ; 
 For godly lives will ever suffer so, 
 Whoe'er salvation wins must sorrow know. 
 Such things must be — the great Redeemer died, 
 Lest man immortal life should be denied ; 
 And sealed His testimony with His blood, 
 To raise His fallen brethren up to God. 
 And Saints will suffer, Israel's blood be spilled. 
 Until "the Gentile seasons" are fulfilled. 
 But woe to them by whom offenses come. 
 Their deeds record a swift-approaching doom. 
 The future, in its fold of mystery. 
 Contains a book of stranger history 
 Than ever yet was conned by mortal man 
 Since time and tide's eternal course began. 
 
28 THE LAND OF SHINEHAH. 
 
 The wrongs of ages cry for recompense, 
 And hidden things for open prominence, 
 Eternal Majesty of Powers on high 
 Appoints the day of restitution nigh. 
 
 Thus far the story of the Saints is told; 
 The record of their orievous wrongs unrolled, 
 Till they, from Kirtland's dales departing, drew 
 Their earthly all to Far West and Nauvoo. 
 
 Fair Shinehah! thy land so desolate — 
 
 A wounded bird deserted by its mate. 
 
 The plumage from its bleeding body torn — 
 
 A picture is of loneliness forlorn. 
 
 Thy Temple, once the glory and the pride 
 
 Of sons and daughters nurtured at thy side, 
 
 Though held by Zion's 'traitor enemies, 
 
 Its sacred halls the haunt of heresies, 
 
 In solemn dignity uprears its head, 
 
 As loth to join the dying and the dead — 
 
 The wrecks that strew the surface of the ground 
 
 In picturesque profusion wide around — 
 
 And sad, yet watchful, guards the crumbling stones, 
 
 The relics of its country's exiled sons. 
 
 Kirtland, Ohio, 
 
 November, iSyy. 
 
LINES ON THE EXODUS. 29 
 
 LINES ON THE EXODUS, 
 f EGIRA of a modern Israel ! 
 
 i®] 
 
 Of thee what wondrous tales truth's annals tell 
 Examples great of suffering fortitude, 
 Rare patience and heroic hardihood. 
 Undaunted courage, daring to oppose, 
 With faith unshaken, swarms of surging foes ; 
 A trust in God no earthly power could shake, 
 A trust the tempting fiends essay to break, 
 But failing, all their legions fell enlist. 
 To crush the truth their arts could not resist. 
 Thus tyrant Error will, in every age, 
 When reason fails, invoke the demon rage ; 
 Designing Priestcraft — systems made of men, 
 Entrenched in mystery from reason's ken. 
 To screen their hideous descrepitude 
 From credulous and blinded multitude, 
 "Delusion" cry, and loose the "dogs of war," 
 The reins of persecution's battle car. 
 Envenom virtue's name with slander's breath. 
 On ruined honor stamp the seal of death. 
 And, burning "heresy" to ashes, claim 
 Another victory in Jesus' name! 
 
JO LINES ON THE EXODUS. 
 
 O Babylon! what streams of human blood 
 Unite to swell thy crimson-rolling flood ! 
 The cry of millions, bound within thy thralls, 
 Deceived and lost, on God for vengeance calls ; 
 The prayers of martyrs, murdered for the truth, 
 Appeals of widows for their orphaned youth, 
 The blood of innocence thy hand hath shed. 
 Pronounce a curse upon thy guilty head. 
 And thou shalt fall, and great thy fall shall be, 
 A ponderous mill-stone cast into the sea; 
 Eternal night shall shroud thee in its gloom, 
 And Truth shall triumph in thy day of doom. 
 
 Rejoice, O Zion! thy redemption's nigh; 
 Thy rising glory was not born to die. 
 Though now thy deeds recounted are with scorn, 
 The coming generations, yet unborn. 
 Will rise and call thee blest — with joy partake 
 Thy blood-bought honors, won by rack and stake. 
 And thousand thousands yet shall come to thee. 
 From every land and clime beyond the sea. 
 Crying : " Behold the mountain of the Lord, 
 The House established by his plighted word, 
 The Ensign on the mountains of the West, 
 Beneath whose folds awaits the promised rest. 
 
LINES ON THE EXODUS. 3 1 
 
 Come, let us fly the judgments of that day, 
 When wickedness from earth shall pass away. 
 And all who answer not the warning- call, 
 With Babylon must crumble in her fall." 
 Thy virtue virtue's votaries shall draw. 
 And out of Zion shall go forth the law, 
 Till all the nations under heaven's sun 
 United are, eternally in one. 
 Thy dawn, thus "kindling to eternal day," 
 Resplendent over all the earth shall sway. 
 
 Then shout, ye sons of God, in gladsome noise, 
 Hosanna to the Source of endless joys ! 
 An echo to the great primeval Voice 
 That bade the early morning stars rejoice 
 When pre-existent spirits woke the strain. 
 Announcing their descent to spheres mundane. 
 Take up the theme, ye warriors of the Cross, 
 Count other earthly gains as earthly dross. 
 And let the darkened minds of Babylon 
 Behold the day ere yet the night comes on. 
 Up ! Rouse, ye remnants of a noble race. 
 Where'er ye move upon the world's broad face; 
 Ye heirs of Joseph's house, lone, stricken band, 
 Assume your place as judges in the land. 
 
32 LINES ON THE EXODUS. 
 
 Shake off the cloak of filth and ignorance 
 
 That long hath held thee in its mystic trance, 
 
 And know thyself, Manasseh ! — royal line. 
 
 Of sires whose birthright springs from Palestine ! 
 
 List to the tidings borne upon the breeze, 
 
 With eager mind upon the message seize, 
 
 That comes from dust in whispers low and still. 
 
 From out the archives of Cumorah's hill. 
 
 Your buried prophets, speaking from the ground. 
 
 In oracles that bear familiar sound, 
 
 Announce the Truth, now springing from the earth 
 
 To usher in the great Millennial birth. 
 
 Proclaim this truth, in thunder-speaking tones, 
 
 From polar climes to austral torrid zones. 
 
 And let the Gospel-bearing echoes sound 
 
 To everlasting mountains' utmost bound, 
 
 Till North, the South, from sunrise till its set, 
 
 From Jewry's plains to vales of Deseret, 
 
 Shall join in one tremendous voice to sing 
 
 The glory of the world's Almighty King. 
 
 Kh'tland, Ohio, 
 
 November, 1877. 
 
THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 2>3 
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING 
 COVENANT. 
 
 To my mother, whose hfe and character are faithful exponents of the principles herein 
 
 portrayed, and to all mothers in Israel whose lives show equal virtue 
 
 and integrity, this poem is affectionately dedicated. 
 
 PIRITS elect of Abram's royal race ! 
 Through tears of v^elling sympathy I trace 
 The record leaves whose silent tongues unfold 
 A part of what could never all be told, 
 And bow in adoration at the shrine, 
 Whose incense — woman's love — proclaims it thine. 
 In vain, alas ! in vain of such to sing, 
 With trembling hand a tuneless harp I string; 
 When earthly numbers, richest, were but rare, 
 Whose words suffice such merit to declare. 
 'Tis written in the heavens, and shall move 
 To praise and pity, all that live and love 
 Where voices, soaring in celestial song, 
 Resound the realms of endless life among. 
 These honor give, where honor's wealth is due — 
 A hymn of heaven's praise, for hearts as true — 
 And echoes soft as rain in early spring, 
 Bequeath to earth the muse's offering. 
 
THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 
 
 Of all the virtues that uniting frame 
 
 The lofty column reared to duty's name, 
 
 Whose summit pencils on the glowing sky 
 
 The deeds of those whose names refuse to die ; 
 
 O'ercrowning all — the Conqueror's device, 
 
 Is woman's life of love — self-sacrifice. 
 
 For others' o-ood ; the grrandest, eodliest theme 
 
 That e'er inspired a mortal poet's dream, 
 
 Or, in yon upper worlds of starry fire, 
 
 Awoke the music of an angel's lyre. 
 
 The holiest that ever yet had birth. 
 
 Since ordered chaos took the name of Earth, 
 
 And rudimental spheres were made abode 
 
 For mortalized immortal sons of God. 
 
 Would frowning Doubt a question e'er intrude, 
 To voice the verdict of ingratitude ? 
 The smouldering fires of history shall flame 
 The proof that hides dubiety in shame, 
 Far up the storied heights of bygone days, 
 All numberless the kindlinof beacons blaze. 
 
 Need other pages be revisioned o'er. 
 The later times evolve their golden store. 
 Unselfish nature of true woman's love — 
 That oft-exampled verity — to prove? 
 
THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 35 
 
 Then let an ever-doubting world behold 
 What more than past, the present can unfold; 
 Ye roving breezes ! catch the rising- sound, 
 And let it from the vaulted heav'ns redound 
 Upon the ingrate source whence cavil sprung, 
 Unfamed, and envious because unsung, 
 Till e'en the silent stones with echoes ring, 
 And proverbs, reaffirmed, conviction bring. 
 
 Within the mighty grave-yard called The Past, 
 Whose hoary sepulchers survive the blast 
 Of stormy change, or enervating age, 
 And still preserve their time's unwritten page : 
 Where look for monuments of nobler stand, 
 Upreared by labor's wonder-working hand. 
 Than court with pride the sun-illumined dome. 
 From widening vales of Israel's mountain home? 
 Within the temples of recorded praise, 
 Where glory shrines the arts of other days ; 
 From darkened Babel's heaven-seeking tower, 
 Down through the cycled ages, till the hour 
 When Ephraim's prophet to the world revealed 
 The ancient rites by erring Rome concealed ; 
 Where seek for wonders found of worthier fame. 
 Than martyr's crown inscribed with Zion's name? 
 
2,6 THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 
 
 Behold her laurels! Ay, of endless bloom, 
 Above the fiat, whose relentless doom — 
 Ignoring haughty science' puerile strife — 
 Pronounces death and change on all of life: 
 The hallowed bays that deck her furrowed brow. 
 Surpassing in their beauty, even now. 
 So promising their vernal glories grow, 
 In heaven's eternal summer yet shall glow. 
 The honors of the world may pass away. 
 But such as these shall never know decay ; 
 In that TO BE, whose coming shuns reprieve. 
 Whose portal won, hope dies of past retrieve. 
 Where righteous laws just dues of merit give, 
 . They cannot die — they but begin to live. 
 
 But who shall name the cost, the sacrifice 
 
 or earthly feelings, passion, prejudice. 
 
 The mothers of a more than Spartan race. 
 
 Compelled their souls of halting dread to face? 
 
 Can human eye, or pen, or tongue, disclose 
 
 The pain another bosom undergoes? 
 
 Or finite vision's artful searching find 
 
 The woes that shade a silence-haunted mind? 
 
 What other voice, than Zion's own, shall break 
 
 Her sufferings for holy conscience' sake? 
 
THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 2>7 
 
 Whose words, than modern Sarah's, e'er shall tell 
 
 The story of a burden borne so well? 
 
 O ye, who marvel faiths' disparity ! 
 
 Gaze on the book with eye of charity, 
 
 Nor deem the simpler lessons written there, 
 
 Of worth devoid, of moral beauty bare ; 
 
 Nor judge in haste, lest, haply, ye condemn 
 
 The things 'twere better honor than contemn, 
 
 For truth oft dazzles judgment with its rays. 
 
 And ways of God are not as mortal's ways. 
 
 "Behold my law!" Omnipotent decree ! 
 Brought Israel, on lowly bended knee, 
 Before Jehovah's throne, with quivering breath, 
 Resolved to live what seemed a living death, 
 Or die in holding the uplifted hand, 
 Sustaining God Almighty's great command. 
 'Twas thus Celestial Marriage was revealed, 
 The Patriarchal Order, long concealed. 
 Through mystic Babel's guile and ignorance 
 Subverting Israel's ancient ordinance. 
 The Abrahamic Covenant, restored. 
 To raise a chosen seed unto the Lord 
 On Joseph's fruitful bough, whose branches fall 
 Athwart old ocean's wild and billowy wall, 
 
o 
 
 8 THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 
 
 Deep nourished by an ever-flowing well 
 
 Of blessing from his father Israel. 
 
 A law divine, in olden days revered, 
 
 The sky wherein Messiah's star appeared ; 
 
 Condition of a blest maternity, 
 
 Within the mansions of Eternity, 
 
 Where love-united souls perpetuate, 
 
 The joys that death could not invalidate. 
 
 And, bound by links forged in terrestial years, 
 
 Are chained the endless systems of the spheres. 
 
 Truth-seeking mind must ever sacrifice 
 
 The ways of pride, of pomp and prejudice, 
 
 And reason's spark, that human gift divine, 
 
 Within the lamp of thought unclouded shine. 
 
 Then shall its rays the jewel truth discern — 
 
 While lips that murmur precious doctrine learn — 
 
 And, piercing, solve that wondered mystery, 
 
 A marvel in the realms of history, 
 
 Why social rule of centuries made way 
 
 For new-born innovation's moral sway. 
 
 Why tyrant Custom from his throne was hurled, 
 
 When Ephraim's star new dawned upon the world. 
 
 "Behold, the Bridegroom cometh ! " was the cry. 
 Loud pealing from a newly opened sky. 
 
THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 
 
 And on the hearts of thousands gladdening fell, 
 Like sunshine on the rolling ocean's sw^ell ; 
 The seal of generations broke at last, 
 And lo ! the future, and the hidden past. 
 The giant flames of hope and memory, 
 Uniting, form creation's canopy. 
 The glorious beams of gospel light and peace. 
 In native warmth and brilliancy, increase. 
 While swift appearing signals of the time. 
 Invest prediction with a truth sublime. 
 A herald from the Kingdom of the Skies, 
 Rewards the vigils of the virgins wise, 
 "Behold the Bridegroom cometh !" was his cry, 
 And "Lo ! we come to meet Him," the reply. 
 
 Heroic Zion, rallying at the call, 
 
 Upon the altar laid her sacred all ; 
 
 Like martyr at the Inquisition's stake. 
 
 Who dared to die for dear conviction's sake, 
 
 With fearless faith and bleeding bosom stood, 
 
 To yield her life, if need, for others' good. 
 
 The vocal winds her watchword onward bore : 
 
 "Regeneration — now and evermore!" 
 
 As armed with mighty faith, no foe could vaunt, 
 
 No power appal, no pending danger daunt. 
 
40 THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT, 
 
 A valiant few, of willing heart and hand, 
 Alone the front of battle took their stand, 
 A holy war for woman's rights to wage, 
 And usher in the dawn of woman's age. 
 Upon her snowy banner's folds is seen, 
 Engrossed in characters of golden sheen : 
 "Up with the guardian of social purity — 
 Celestial system of Futurity ; 
 Asylum of reform and penitence, 
 God-given boon to homeless innocence. 
 Let marriage vows be 'honorable in all,' 
 Untrammeled by a monogamic wall 
 Of selfishness and rank hypocrisy. 
 The child of Pagan aristocracy," 
 
 Dare Christian bigotry assign of hell, 
 The law that framed the House of Israel ? 
 Condemn as barbarous, or brand as crime, 
 The heaven-accepted rites of olden time ? 
 Dare pious priest, or sectary, renounce 
 The sacred truths of Scripture, and denounce 
 The ones Almighty God could condescend 
 To own as Chosen, and to name as Friend ? 
 Befoul the words that glittering begem 
 The pearly gates of New Jerusalem, 
 
THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 4 1 
 
 In future time to meet them face to face, 
 And crave admittance to that holy place ? 
 Oh, blush for shame, false Christianity ! 
 Thou synonym for inconsistency ! 
 To shroud the gospel in the glooms of night, 
 Then boast the spread of evangelic light ; 
 Proclaim the Scriptures as a sacred prize. 
 Yet teach mankind its doctrine to despise ; 
 With holy horror gaze on Jacob's bed. 
 And recommend the Caesar's couch instead! 
 With all thy vaunted lore, most ignorant 
 Beneath the light-reflecting firmament. 
 
 No longer point the finger of thy scorn, 
 At virtues from thy brow forever shorn ; 
 No more deride what holy writs defend. 
 Above thy wish or power to comprehend : 
 And till thy bloody robes are purged as clean 
 As those that wake, yet shame, thy jealous spleen, 
 Ne'er threat extermination to a cause 
 Whose only crime's obeying heaven's laws. 
 Restrain thy pompous pride, thy roaring wrath. 
 Colossal Philistine of modern Gath ! 
 Nor 'gainst the pure and meek and innocent, 
 From giant bow thy deadly shaft be sent ; 
 
42 THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 
 
 The God of David reigns above thee still, 
 
 To fight the battles of His Israel, 
 
 And e'en, to war, though hostile millions spring, 
 
 The fated Stone yet arms the Shepherd's sling. 
 
 Ye women of America ! give ear ! 
 
 Maternity, the voice of nature hear! 
 
 Obedient, listen to the call of love, 
 
 Descending with glad tidings from above ! 
 
 Too long hath iron tyranny coerced 
 
 The gentle heart forbidden e'en to burst; 
 
 Too long hath haughty man's preclusive pride 
 
 The meed of woman's worthiness denied ; 
 
 'Tis finished. Hark ! The thrilling battle-cry 
 
 Of "Woman's Rights" now rends the echoing sky, 
 
 As speed, on lightning wings, from clime to clime, 
 
 The phantom heralds of a dying Time. 
 
 Her sun, ascending like an orison. 
 
 Beams brightly on the glowing horizon. 
 
 Dispelling clouds that linger in its way. 
 
 Like mountain mists before the god of day. 
 
 Its course is marked, its radiance fair and true, 
 
 Its origin of earth, to heaven due; 
 
 Emblem of peace, of happiness and home, 
 
 Its aim's the zenith of creation's dome. 
 
THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 4; 
 
 Brave Zion, as the nations' pioneer, 
 Summons the legions of the main and rear, 
 Ye women of the world ! Eve's daughters all ! 
 Awake ! Arise ! Respond your leader's call. 
 Heed not the poisoned tongues of Zion's foes, 
 Whose specious fabrications would impose 
 A barrier to the union and redress 
 Of wrongs, the ripened harvest of duress. 
 Reck not of doctrine's wide, divergent ways. 
 Nor resurrect the scenes of buried days. 
 Let mutual friendship bridge the chasm o'er. 
 And peace and union reign forevermore. 
 
 Brave daughters of the desert, tried and true ! 
 The muse would breathe a parting word to you ; 
 Who, heedless of the odium and scorn, 
 Of ignorance or baser envy born, 
 Through scenes of toiling woe and adverse fate. 
 To make the soul of courage hesitate, 
 Approved the wisdom of the stern decree 
 That burst the bonds of woman's slavery, 
 Roused slumbering Faith from self's ignoble zest 
 And fixed the star of glory on her breast. 
 Admiring millions yet shall view thy name. 
 Emblazoned on the storied shaft of fame. 
 
44 THE WOMEN OF THE EVERLASTING COVENANT. 
 
 And while they read, and, weeping, h'nger o'er 
 Remembered deeds of ages gone before, 
 Fair Poesy her golden harp shall string. 
 And in her loftiest, smoothest numbers sing 
 Of those who, braving still the skeptic's sneer, 
 The Christian's hatred and the coward's fear, 
 Wrought out the problem deep of social life, 
 Made Womanhood the synonym for Wife, 
 And nursed the chrysalis, whose glorious birth 
 Soared heavenward and overwhelmed the earth. 
 Hast fought the fight, the cross hast meekly borne. 
 The wrath of man, the world's unreasoning- scorn ? 
 In that eternal future, dawning near, 
 Whose music even now salutes the ear. 
 As turn, on golden hinge, the pearly gates, 
 Transcendent recompense thy coming waits. 
 
 My mother ! On thy pale and care-lined brow, 
 O'erhung with sorrow's wreath of silver snow, 
 Outvying fabled splendor's fairest gem, 
 Shall shine, in heaven's light, a diadem ; 
 Thy tear-dimmed eye shall be forever bright. 
 Thy form renewed and robed in living light, 
 Where souls redeemed immortal glories share, 
 And God is near, and love is everywhere. 
 
 Elyria, Ohio, January, 18/8. 
 
IN THE CANYON. 45 
 
 IN THE CANYON. 
 
 jYtITH weary footsteps wandering 
 ^^ From busy scenes of life, 
 In solitude deep pondering 
 
 Lone thoughts with sadness rife, 
 I souofht the cool invitinor shade 
 
 The birch boughs gently threw 
 Along the bosom of the glade 
 
 Begemmed with crystal dew. 
 
 Around, the wild-rose foliage swung 
 
 In summer's radiant green ; 
 Above, the pliant boulders huno- 
 
 To pruard the orentler scene ; 
 Before, the murmurincr mountain stream 
 
 In silvern beauty flowed. 
 Its breast reflecting every gleam 
 
 Aurora's sun bestowed. 
 
 The morning, young and beautiful. 
 
 Breathes music to the soul 
 Of him whose thoughts are dutiful • 
 
 To nature's mild control. 
 
46 IN THE CANYON. 
 
 For me her varied melody 
 
 She played with smiling face — 
 
 The stream in rippling harmony 
 Enhanced each tuneful grace — 
 
 And held her jeweled chalice forth, 
 
 And wooed me to the draug^ht 
 By her distilled, of richer worth 
 
 Than rarest wines e'er quaffed, 
 I drained her cup, and wisdom smiled 
 
 As peace her gentle sway 
 Resumed, and, by her voice beguiled, 
 
 Dull sadness died away. 
 
 There surely is in solitude. 
 
 Where hermit Nature dwells. 
 For spirit lost in solemn mood, 
 
 For pain that inward wells, 
 A source of comfort-yielding balm, 
 
 A mother's tender kiss, 
 That lays the troubled waters calm 
 
 And fills the soul with bliss. 
 
THE .PORTRAIT. 47 
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 ?^J;^IS only a portrait, and yet the sweet face 
 
 ^f Seems gifted with magical powers; 
 How fondly I dream, as its features I trace. 
 Of the past and its garland of flowers ! 
 
 As I gaze in those [blue eyes, so loving and kind, 
 
 That ever look smiling on me. 
 The stream of reflection swift carries my mind 
 
 To the shore of eternity's sea. 
 
 And the veil of long absence is rended in twain, 
 
 Disclosing her being so fair. 
 Whose image on earth we may search for in vain. 
 
 Yet in heaven be sure she is there. 
 
 There were many more beautiful, fairer than she, 
 But seek where ye would, ye'd ne'er find 
 
 A maiden of loveliness greater, to me. 
 For hers was the beauty of mind. 
 
 The dear tender heart that could comfort and bless, 
 
 Forgetting its own grief the while ; 
 The face that could soften another's distress 
 
 And cover its own with a smile. 
 
48 A MONODY. 
 
 In joy hers the spirit of goodness and love, 
 In sorrow of patience and rest ; 
 
 The gifted and graced of all angels above, 
 Was - — — , the dearest and best. 
 
 A MONODY. 
 
 •ONE from my heart is the sunlight of gladness, 
 *^ Gone from my soul is the music of yore ; 
 For mine eyes are oft dim with the warm dews of sad- 
 ness, 
 And I sigh for the presence of one gone' before. 
 
 In the springtime, and spring of her life was she taken, 
 When the pitying tears of young April were shed 
 
 O'er the slumbering germlets of May, to awaken 
 The sentinel flowers to vigfil the dead. 
 
 And the loveliest blossom that e'er fell from Eden, 
 The fairest, most fragrant in purity's wreath. 
 
 When the spring-heralds welcomed the life-giving season, 
 Was slain by the frosts of the winter of death. 
 
 Ah! many to spare were our hearts better willing, 
 Than the soul in whose beauty all others were blest, 
 
SORROW S LESSON. 49 
 
 But "death loves a bright mark," and ever is filling" 
 His graves with the spirits of those we love best. 
 
 Their spirits? Not so; tis but clay lies beneath us, 
 For death o'er the spirit no sceptre can sway; 
 
 And both shall unite once again to bequeath us 
 The joy of reunion at some future day. 
 
 For the mortal but rests on a motherly pillow. 
 While its spirit mate shines like a jewel on high; 
 
 As a star, buried low in the depths of the billow, 
 Has its twin-fire sparkling aloft in the sky. 
 
 To the future, then, heart, turn for ne'er-ending gladness, 
 And music-lorn soul, for the sweetness of yore, 
 
 Where the warm light of hope drys the fountain of 
 sadness, 
 And life is all spring, and the spring evermore. 
 
 SORROW'S LESSON. 
 
 ?^^IS well all souls were made to suffer, 
 
 ^^ That each for others' woes might feel ; 
 For Pain unlocks the door of Mercy — 
 So learns the wounding hand to heal. 
 
50 A SECOND DANIEL. 
 
 WIT AND WISDOM. 
 
 /@)rS deepest waves with darkest volume flow, 
 
 Though gems lie glittering in their depths below,. 
 So wisest thoughts will oft the dullest seem, 
 While wit's bright bubbles gild the shallow stream. 
 
 A SECOND DANIEL.* 
 
 Respectfully inscribed to General D. H. W^ells, imprisoned for 
 conscience sake, May 3rd, 1879. 
 
 TTEND, ye champions of right, 
 
 And scorners of the wrong ; 
 
 Whose souls, reflecting Freedom's light, 
 
 Around her standard throng! 
 Of modern tyrants 'tis my lot 
 
 To sinp- ; of hero bold — 
 A Daniel to the judgment brought. 
 Like unto him of old. 
 
 *Then answered they and said before the king; that Daniel, which is of the 
 children of the capitivity of Judah, regardeth not thee, O king, nor the decree that thou 
 hast signed, but maketh his petition three times a day. 
 
 Then the king commanded and they brought Daniel and cast him into the 
 den of lions. Daniel vi., ij, 16. 
 
A SECOND [DANIEL. 5 1 
 
 Where ermined Malice sat enthroned, 
 
 And bias held the rule ; 
 Where perfidy, of crime condoned, 
 
 Became hate's pliant tool ; 
 The aged hero took his stand, 
 
 In mien and action plain, 
 To face, on freedom's holy land, 
 
 Inquisitors of Spain. 
 
 For Conscience was on trial now — 
 
 Faith's royal right divine ; 
 And Honor from her throne must bow 
 
 Before a despot's shrine. 
 A sacred oath must sundered be, 
 
 A secret rite revealed. 
 The jest of sneering ribaldry 
 
 And hearts by hatred steeled. 
 
 "Thou shalt forswear thyself" — so laid 
 
 Behest of tyrant tongue 
 On him whose speech for fear ne'er staid, 
 
 Nor save when speech were wrong. 
 And blinded justice stood aghast, 
 
 Her sword and balance fell, 
 As though 'twere treason's warlike blast 
 
 That sounded freedom's knell. 
 
52 A SECOND DANIEL. 
 
 All ears were strained to catch reply, 
 
 And thus it came: "To me, 
 There's naug-ht so base beneath the sky 
 
 As craven treachery. 
 What ye require my soul would bend 
 
 'Neath shame's avenmne rod ; 
 I never yet betrayed my friend. 
 
 My country or my God ! " 
 
 For this the veteran chieftain brave 
 
 To a dungeon cell was sent — 
 Fidelity, like felon slave, 
 
 To guilt's base punishment. 
 Shades of our patriotic sires ! 
 
 Look down from heavenly rest. 
 And quench with tears indignant fires 
 
 Within your children's breasts ! 
 
 How long shall suffering fortitude 
 
 In silence bear its load; 
 The cries of trampled rectitude 
 
 Be answered by the goad? 
 Has Justice all her claim renounced? 
 
 Is patriotism dead? 
 Has liberty, by law denounced. 
 
 Our land forever fled? 
 
A SECOND DANIEL. 53 
 
 Oh, tell it not in Askelon, 
 
 Nor in the homes of Gath, 
 That Freedom's blest abode hath won 
 
 The God of freedom's wrath; 
 That Ichabod.must written be 
 
 On all her noble towers, 
 That law hath strangled liberty, 
 
 And tyrants are her powers ! 
 
 But lo ! the dungeon opens wide, 
 
 The durance hours tiee ; 
 With friends and comrades at his side, 
 
 Comes forth the captive free. 
 The God of Daniel, ever true. 
 
 His servant hath restored, 
 And honor's laurel wreath is due 
 
 A lion of the Lord. 
 
 Behold the grandeur and display, 
 
 As far as eye can see, 
 Where youth and age, in bright array, 
 
 Are come to welcome thee. 
 The waves of human masses roll 
 
 Like billows of the sea, 
 And gladness breaks beyond control 
 
 Of legal tyranny. 
 
54 A SECOND DANIEL. 
 
 We honor him who would not bend 
 
 The cringing suppHant's knee, 
 Nor break his pHghted faith, nor lend 
 
 His lips to perjury. 
 A second Daniel we attend, 
 
 Who braved oppression's rod. 
 And never yet betrayed his friend. 
 
 His country or his God. 
 
 The heavens smile approvingly 
 
 On heroism's test, 
 And Zion's heart beats lovingly 
 
 With patriotic zest. 
 The skies are rent with loud acclaim, 
 
 A nation's bosom swells, 
 And Israel's thousands bless the name 
 
 Of Daniel Hanmer Wells. 
 
LOVES ADIEU. 55 
 
 LOVE'S ADIEU, 
 
 CtTERN duty calls — I must away ; 
 ^^ Its mandate will not brook delay. 
 But though I go, I'll pe'er forget 
 The scenes wherein I linger yet. 
 
 I'll ne'er forget the sunny smile, 
 
 Whose beam gave welcome all the while ; 
 
 The fairy form, the angel face, 
 
 Of her to whom these lines I trace. 
 
 And if we ne'er should meet again— 
 Tho' such reflection's fraught with pain — 
 I trust that I may ever be 
 A picture held in memory. 
 
 You'll live in mine, as bright and true, 
 
 As now I bid thee fond adieu. 
 
 With what regret I cannot tell : 
 
 Once more, sweet friend, farewell, farewell ! 
 
 Should I say more? There's much I feel 
 Which words but feebly would portray; 
 But no — this little will reveal 
 Too much of what I fain would say. 
 
56 LINES WRITTEN IN A LADY's ALBUM. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM. 
 
 HEN on the past fond meditation dwells, 
 And lingering memory its story tells, 
 When bygone scenes and faces shall appear. 
 In retrospective musings, mostly dear ; 
 
 Let this memento, though in simple dress. 
 Affection's silent eloquence express ; 
 And though 'tis mute, yet may it speak of me 
 And bring me back to love and memory. 
 
 LINES TO LUELLA. 
 
 ^TTAIR maid ! be ever as thou art — 
 
 Thy purity thy richest dower; 
 For that alone will charm the heart 
 When beauty is a faded flower. 
 
AN ACROSTIC. 57 
 
 AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 CyiREN of the sunny eyes ! 
 ^^ In my heart thine Image Hes, 
 Ne'er to part, in weal or woe, 
 Only queen it e'er shall know. 
 
 Reign thou in this bosom still. 
 Empress o'er my captive will ; 
 Give me leave to ever be 
 Near and dear to love and thee — 
 A bird that seeks no sweeter nest, 
 Softly shrined within thy breast. 
 
 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 yiNLIKE the planet love's ephemeral ray, 
 ^^ Whose giddy lustre burns but for a day. 
 Friendship's is fairest in the dusk of age, 
 As print is brighter on a time-worn page. 
 
58 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 The stream of love is shallow and unclear, 
 And waves of trouble on its breast appear, 
 But friendship's tide is limpid as it flows, 
 And calmer, deeper, as it onward goes. 
 
 The fire of love is fickle and untrue, 
 And wanting fuel, pales its primal hue. 
 While friendship's glows with self-renewing light, 
 A.nd warmest in the chilly glooms of night. 
 
 The rose of love, bereft of sunny ray. 
 
 Will droop and wither, fade and fall away ; 
 
 In modest, sweet simplicity arrayed, 
 
 The flower of friendship blossoms in the shade. 
 
 Time's test on love may part the brittle chain. 
 Or on its links corrosive spots remain. 
 And bonds like these lie mingling with the dust, 
 When friendship shows no sign of wear or rust. 
 
 Yet things diverse oft-times inseparate are. 
 While each, in other, claims a rightful share ; 
 For love the bride of friendship e'er will prove. 
 And friendship is the better half of love. 
 
A SILENT SORROW. 59 
 
 A SILENT SORROW. 
 
 I HAVE a silent sorrow here, 
 A grief I'll ne'er impart; 
 It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear, 
 Yet it consumes my heart. — Sheridan. 
 
 ^S^HE streams that run with loudest ripple 
 ^^ Are not the deepest streams that flow ; 
 Nor trickling eyes, nor lips that murmur, 
 Feel, always, what they fain would show. 
 
 As rains that cool the breath of summer 
 Relieve the thunder-stricken cloud, 
 So pain is reft of half its burden 
 When sorrow weeps and mourns aloud. 
 
 There is a grave near yonder mountain 
 Holds in its breast a secret deep, 
 Where oft a sorrow's seen to linger, 
 Whose eyes are never known to weep. 
 
 There is a grief that chokes expression, 
 Sad eyes whence tears may never fall ; 
 God pity him whose, grief flows inward. 
 For this the greatest grief of all. 
 
6o ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 fHE world is his who sees its vain pretense, 
 And tries it with the touchstone common-sense; 
 And though, with some, vain title tells of worth. 
 In reason's balance, brain far outweighs birth. 
 
 Avails it, then, if gossip's tongue beguiles 
 The giddy throng where wanton folly smiles? 
 Or vanity, the pampered child of praise, 
 To win sweet lies from flattery essays ? 
 
 While genius, climbing to its destined place, 
 Encounters sneering envy in the race. 
 Where polished dunce, with studied speech inflate, 
 Affects to scorn but cannot emulate. 
 
 The mind of sterling merit can despise 
 This meretricious tinsel of disguise. 
 And, though decrees of caste its way retard, 
 A conscious virtue is its own reward. 
 
 What though vain pride on lineal honors dwell, 
 Or sordid gain of mammon's glory tell. 
 Or fashion's queen with stolen scepter play 
 The tyrant o'er dominions of a day? 
 
JUDGE NOT. • 6 1 
 
 Is not a crown of wisdom richer prize 
 Than wealth, which merit's meed full oft denies? 
 A station 'mong the kings and queens of thought, 
 A nobler rank than is of name begot? 
 
 He'll find, who studies for his own behoof, 
 That 'tis the pillar which sustains the roof. 
 Though there the fluttering ensigns waving high. 
 In swelling grandeur court the distant sky. 
 
 And who would ocean's hoarded treasures know, 
 Or gather of its gems, must search below ; 
 While further observation shows the wise 
 That air-distended bubbles always rise. 
 
 JUDGE NOT. 
 
 T|)ELIEVE not e'en the half of what you hear, 
 
 For oft a falsehood may a truth appear; 
 Nor speak the half of what you think is true— 
 We haste regret, but seldom silence rue. 
 
62 INSCRIPTION ON A MONUMENT, 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF THE 
 MARTYR, JOSEPH STANDING. 
 
 T^ENEATH this stone by friendship's hand is lain 
 
 The martyred form of one untimely slain ; 
 A servant of the Lord, whose works revealed 
 The love of truth, for which his doom was sealed. 
 
 Where foes beset, when but a single friend 
 Stood true, nor shunned his comrade's cruel end, 
 Deep in the shades of ill-starred Georgia's wood, 
 Fair freedom's soil was crimsoned with his blood. 
 
 Our brother rests beneath his native sod. 
 His murderers are in the hands of God ; 
 Weep, weep for them, not him whose silent dust 
 Here waits the resurrection of the just. 
 
THE JUBILEE OF ZION, 63 
 
 THE JUBILEE OF ZION. 
 
 Written in Commemoration of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Church of Jesus 
 
 Christ of Latter - day Saints — April 6th, 1880 — and read at 
 
 the Celebration of Pioneer Day, July 24th, 1880. 
 
 T^AIL to the Year of Jubilee ! 
 
 (^ Let pealing- anthems rise, 
 And bursts of echoing melody 
 
 Loud minofle with the skies ! 
 Let earth resound with music's power, 
 
 Glad welcoming the year 
 When Zion sees her natal hour 
 
 The fiftieth time appear! 
 
 An hour when, thro' the lingering night, 
 
 In beauty broke the morn ; 
 When Faith, exultant, hailed the lig^ht 
 
 That told her Truth was born. 
 The fulness of an omened birth — 
 
 In verse prophetic given — 
 Where Truth, new springing from the earth. 
 
 Saw Mercy smile in heaven. 
 
64 THE JUBILEE OF ZION. 
 
 It is a day for Israel 
 
 His highest hopes to raise, 
 While voice and harp, uniting, swell 
 
 The sounding notes of praise. 
 For Truth and Virtue, breathino- love. 
 
 Have made the world more fair, 
 Since Righteousness, from realms above, 
 
 Unfurled her standard here. 
 
 Can friendly eye this radiant scene behold. 
 Nor feel what fairest words could not unfold? 
 Or stranger gaze upon its glory rest. 
 Nor deem, of all, this day divinely blest? 
 Could Time retrace the wilderness of years — 
 The stubble-field of human hopes and fears — 
 Recall from silent regions of decay 
 The buried greatness of a former day, 
 Would not the righteous dead their voices raise. 
 To swell the volume of a people's praise. 
 And, bursting from the thralldom of the sod, 
 Declare the wondrous workmanship of God? 
 But Time, alas ! no retrogression knows. 
 Its ever-hurrying stream still onward flows ; 
 The moments coming crowd the moments past. 
 And each day sings the requiem of the last. 
 
THE JUBILEE OF ZION. 65 
 
 Fair Memory! Thine the task this boon to give; 
 Bid thou the past within the present hve ! 
 On thy bright altar let the embers glow, 
 To lift the shadows from the Long Ago ! 
 
 Far down the mystic river of the mind. 
 
 A fleet of recollections slowly wind ; 
 
 A wreath of flowers from fancy's garden brought ; 
 
 Historic views on memory's canvas wrought. 
 
 The foremost is a scene where forests grow. 
 Where flowers bloom and springtime breezes blow, 
 Where sweet-toned birds send up their matin lay, 
 And revel in the golden beams of day. 
 Deep in the bosom of a woodland shade. 
 Where Solitude her secret home hath made, 
 A rustic lad, his sunburned temples bare. 
 Pours forth a guileless soul to God in prayer. 
 A sudden cloud, of midnight depth profound, 
 Now hurls him breathless to the trembling ground; 
 Speechless he's stricken, but with voice of will 
 Calls on his God, and supplicates him still. 
 His prayer is heard. Lo! shining o'er his head, 
 A dazzling light! Where hath the darkness fled? 
 A pillar brighter than the noonday sun. 
 When on the purest sky his race is run, 
 
66 THE JUBILEE OF ZION. 
 
 Falls gently as the earth-reviving dew, 
 
 And opens to his gaze a heavenly view ; 
 
 Two Beings, of a glory to defy 
 
 The power of words, descend the glowing sky. 
 
 Is it a voice, or music low and clear. 
 
 Whose hallowed sweetness charms the listener's ear, 
 
 Like murmuring waters from a mossy rim : 
 
 "Joseph! 'Tis my beloved Son; hear Him!" 
 
 The scene has changed. Within a rustic cot — 
 An honest farmer's home of humble lot — 
 The boy that was, in pride of strength appears, 
 Erect 'neath manhood's crown of ripening years. 
 Nor now, as when, in trusting boyhood's care. 
 Alone he sought and found the God of prayer; 
 Nor when, as singly, stemmed the tide of hate, 
 Which spurned the truth he dared to innovate ; 
 Friends are his followers ; tho' numbering few. 
 Disciples dauntless of a doctrine new ; 
 They here fulfill the heaven-appointed word ■ 
 Of him who bore the burden of the Lord, 
 When learned proud Babel's king, in rapt amaze. 
 What God had destined in the latter days. 
 The hour is nigh when monarchs' necks shall bow. 
 The stone yet lingers on the mountain's brow. 
 
THE JUBILEE OF ZION. 6/ 
 
 But soon with force resistless shall it fall, 
 And onward roll victorious over all. 
 'Tis done — the deed Creation's morn devised — 
 The Church of Jesus Christ is organized. 
 
 The scenes roll on. Now chains the wandering sight, 
 
 A land of meadows broad and streamlets bright, 
 
 Where flowery billows, in the far extent, 
 
 Kiss with soft lips the bending firmament. 
 
 And Sire of Waters, matchless and alone, 
 
 Pours his dark torrent toward the burning zone. 
 
 A city stands in purity and pride. 
 
 On Mississippi's rushing, rolling tide. 
 
 Erstwhile the home of melody and mirth, 
 
 A refuse for the righteous of the earth. 
 
 The shrine of hope, the paradise of peace, 
 
 Where faith was found in charity's increase ; 
 
 An ark where ^-oving weariness might rest — 
 
 A gleam of light upon the earth's dark crest. 
 
 But there are sounds of sorrow in the air. 
 
 Where gladness reigned o'er beauty bright and rare. 
 
 Dark clouds of grief are gathering round thy head, 
 
 Whence showers of tears shall o'er thy bosom spread, 
 
 And Sadness shall the leaves of cypress strew 
 
 O'er thy pale brow, O fated, fair Nauvoo ! 
 
68 THE JUBILEE OF ZION. 
 
 A prison cell. The slow descending day, 
 As loth to part, sends forth a farewell ray. 
 Where sons of patriot sires, their freedom flown, 
 In dreary durance tread the dungeon stone. 
 Four forms revealed, and one familiar face — 
 The boy, the man, of other time and place; 
 Still young, yet on his brow the crown of care, 
 That age and early woe are known to wear. 
 What deed of his hath won the felon's doom? 
 Ask the bright sun, that bids the envious gloom 
 Give way when morning lifts the veil of night. 
 Why bringeth he again the vanished light? 
 His "crime" the same; for biddinof darkness flee, 
 Shares he a dungeon with his comrades three. 
 Nor filled their cup of fate. Hark ! from below, 
 A rumble as of angry waters' flow ; 
 And gathering fast, as clouds foretelling storm, 
 A horde of demons, housed in human form, 
 Besiege the portals, and, with surging sway. 
 The threshold throng ; the treacherous guards give way. 
 A roaring volley rends the affrighted air, 
 As rush the mad mob up the trembling stair. 
 Eager, as wolves, the helpless prey to rend, 
 Daring, as cowards, strike where none defend. 
 
THE JUBILEE OF ZION. 69 
 
 Now bristling weapons gleam about the door, 
 Into the cell their murderous showers pour, 
 As through the window, to the fatal room. 
 Swift rain the metal messengers of doom. 
 Vainly the captives stem that fiery flood. 
 Thirsting to mingle with the martyrs' blood. 
 The deed is done — the deadly die is cast — 
 Two noble souls on earth have sio^hed their last. 
 
 Sweet Mercy! Close the bloody book of fate! 
 
 Seared were the sight such scenes could contemplate. 
 
 To shield thy chosen, smite their ruthless foes, 
 
 O God! could not thy lightnings interpose? 
 
 Weep, Zion, weep ! But every drop that's shed 
 
 Shall roll an ocean o'er the murderer's head. 
 
 Thy tears, tho' vain his victims to recall. 
 
 On crime's dark soul like molten lead shall fall. 
 
 Mourn, Israel ! mourn thy prophet chieftains slain. 
 
 Yet know their souls are 'neath the altar lain, 
 
 To rise in witness at that solemn day, 
 
 When Judgment shall the world in balance weigh, 
 
 And cowering guilt, from vengeance long concealed, 
 
 In retribution's presence stands revealed. 
 
 Where now shall fancy's roving pinion rest? 
 'Mid barren regions of the boundless West, 
 
JO THE JUBILEE OF ZION. 
 
 Where silvery streams through silent valleys flow, 
 From mountains crested with eternal snow. 
 Where reigns no creed its rival creed to bind, 
 Where exiled faith a resting place shall find, 
 Where builds the eagle on the beetling height^ 
 And wings o'er freedom's hills unfearing flight. 
 
 'Tis summer morn. On mountain, vale and stream 
 
 The generous sun bestows a golden beam, 
 
 Crowning with glory snow-capt towering hills, 
 
 And dartinor life through all their thousand rills. 
 
 No sound disturbs the stillness of that scene — 
 
 So bare, so bright, so savage yet serene — 
 
 Save where the torrent's distant voice is heard, 
 
 Mingling with music of the mountain bird, 
 
 Or minstrel cricket, 'neath his drooping blade. 
 
 Chirps, ceaselessly, his summer serenade. 
 
 But list! Breaks on the ear a stranger sound — 
 
 How from high hills those jarring notes rebound, 
 
 As sentinels, that warn what would intrude, . 
 
 To mar the sway of kingly solitude! 
 
 Now nearer borne upon the rising breeze. 
 
 The roll of rocks and crash of falling trees 
 
 Blend harsh, at intervals, with human shout, 
 
 And clattering wheels that throng the rugged route. 
 
THE JUBILEE OF ZION. J I 
 
 Lo ! Issuing from the canyon's rough defile, 
 Where frowns, on either side, a lofty pile, 
 A little band of sunburnt mountaineers 
 Halt on the ridgfe — whose milder summit rears, 
 The towering peaks and plain to intervene — 
 And gaze with wonder on the glorious scene. 
 Ah ! marvel nothing if the eye may trace 
 The care lines on each toil-worn hero's face; 
 Nor yet, if down his cheek, in silent show, 
 The trickling tides of tender feeling flow. 
 Tears not of weakness, nor of sorrow's mood. 
 As when, o'er vanished joys, sad memories brood ; 
 Far richer fount those fearless eyes bedewed — 
 They wept the golden drops of gratitude. 
 Wherefore? Ask of the bleak and biting wind. 
 The rivers, rocks and deserts left behind ; 
 The rolling prairie's waste of moveless waves, 
 Ps. path of pain, a trail of nameless graves ; 
 The city fair, where widowed Loneliness 
 Weeps her lost children in the wilderness ; 
 The river broad, along whose icy bridge 
 Their bleeding feet red-hued each frozen ridge ; 
 The Christian world, that drove them forth to die 
 On barren wilds, beneath a wintry sky ! 
 
72 THE JUBILEE OF ZION. 
 
 Would e'en the coldest heart forbear to say, 
 
 Good cause had gratitude to weep that day ? 
 
 Or censure, for a flow of manly tears, 
 
 That brave-souled band — immortal Pioneers ? 
 
 Their names ? Go view them on the Golden Page, 
 
 The gift of glory to remotest age ; 
 
 The van of civilization's westward sweep, 
 
 The few that sowed what millions yet shall reap. 
 
 As some fair ship that waves its pennant high, 
 
 Bright with the splendors of the sunset sky, 
 
 Their memory sails along the musing sight, 
 
 Haloed with blessings, as a crown of lieht, 
 
 Borne on the breast of fame's eternal river, 
 
 "A thing of beauty" and "a joy forever." 
 
 And fifty years, like billows on the sand. 
 
 Have left their marks on Life's wave-beaten strand, 
 
 Since dawned the morning of that chosen day 
 
 When Israel's fold refound the narrow way, 
 
 And planted firm the gospel's glorious tree. 
 
 On Joseph's land, the land of liberty. 
 
 Tho' rudely torn from out the parent soil — 
 
 Its budding glories fierce oppression's spoil — 
 
 And flung far out upon the burning plain. 
 
 To meet the doom its murderous foes ordain. 
 
r\ 
 
 THE JUBILEE OF ZION. 73 
 
 Like Aaron's rod, the bough of Joseph blooms, 
 BrinPfs forth, in gladness, 'mid the desert orlooms, 
 With fragrance rare the sterile valley fills. 
 And blossoms on the everlasting hills. 
 Deep rooted in the chambers of the rock. 
 Unheeding war, and storm, and earthquake shock, 
 It stands where hatred's fiery shafts are hurled. 
 Waving a welcome to the wondering world. 
 Afar, its shadows o'er the nations fall, 
 Ap-ain its branches climb the ocean wall. 
 And seeds of life, sown with Almighty hand, 
 Are springing from the soils of every land. 
 And these shall bear, upon the world's broad face. 
 The fruits of freedom for the human race — 
 Freedom for all, of every creed and hue. 
 Pagan or Christian, Moslem, Greek or Jew, 
 O'er all alike, the Olive blooms again. 
 Proclaiming peace on earth, good will to men. 
 There let it flourish, till from shore to shore — 
 When tide shall rest and time shall be no more, 
 And heaven's veil hath withered to a scroll — 
 The waves of righteousness o'er earth shall roll. 
 And Zion, the redeemed, the pure, the free. 
 Shall celebrate the World's Great Jubilee. 
 
74 THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 
 
 THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 
 
 An Oration for July 4th, i88l, the celebration for which was abandoned, 
 owing to the assassination of President Garfield. 
 
 /@)rS THE traveler through soHtary wilds ascends 
 ^^ the occasional mountain-top, to gaze backward 
 over the scenes his feet have traversed, or to peer for- 
 ward into the intervening distance between him and 
 his destination, so the pilgrim through life's wilder- 
 ness pauses instinctively on the summit of a great 
 event, to glance in retrospection over the range of 
 human history, or onward, far as his vision is per- 
 mitted to extend, athwart the dim and shadowy out- 
 line of the future. Standing, to-day, on such an 
 eminence — the anniversary of an event which looms 
 like a mountain from the plain of man's experience 
 — our thoughts fly backward, and with a wave of imagi- 
 nation's wand, whose thrilling touch revives the relics 
 of antiquity, brings back the dead to life, and paints 
 anew the faded pictures of the past ; we are gazing, 
 this hour, in common with millions of our countr^^men, 
 upon a panorama of glorious events, of which this 
 day is the ever-memorable reminder. 
 
THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 75 
 
 Five years more than a century ago, was given 
 to the world the Declaration of American Independ- 
 ence ; an instrument which sundered forever the 
 political ties between the mother nation and her 
 colonies, absolved them from their allegiance to the 
 British crown, and raised our country from an atti- 
 tude of dependency at the foot of a foreign throne, 
 to her high and rightful station as an independent 
 power among the nations of the earth. 
 
 We, who are basking in the full blaze of liberty 
 bequeathed from the heroic era of the Revolution, 
 are liable to under-estimate, not only the value of the 
 priceless boon, but likewise the magnitude, the sub- 
 limity of the undertaking which secured to us its 
 peaceable possession. 
 
 Among the brave-souled band who affixed their 
 names to that immortal document, pledging their lives, 
 their fortunes and their sacred honor, to the main- 
 tenance and vindication of the great principle in- 
 volved, how many but felt it was their death-war- 
 rant they signed, and they were standing on the 
 brink of an abyss from which a single misstep might 
 hurl them into the yawning gulf below ? "If we do 
 not hang together, we shall hang separately," was 
 a laconic yet significant speech uttered on that criti- 
 
76 THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 
 
 cal occasion. Such, only, as have occupied similar 
 positions, who have opposed might with right, who 
 have faced, for God and conscience sake, the pitiless 
 storms of persecution, the keen arrows of contumely, 
 or the savage bolts of death ; sacrificing their earthly 
 hopes of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, in 
 defense of a sacred conviction — such only can realize 
 the situation of the fathers of the Republic, 
 
 "In face of death who dared to fling 
 Defiance to a tyrant king," 
 
 and laid their fortunes, lives and reputations upon 
 the holy, immaculate altar of human liberty. 
 
 Theirs was a glorious deed. It shines like the 
 sun in the firmament of heaven, and like that sun 
 it fills the earth with light, and beams for the wel- 
 fare and happiness of the whole brotherhood of man. 
 The blow they dealt was in the common cause 
 of freedom, the voice which appealed to high 
 heaven for the rectitude of their intentions, sounded 
 the death-knell of universal tyranny. Not America, 
 alone, but the wide world has cause to rejoice over, 
 aye, and to commemorate that illustrious event. For 
 on that day the axe was laid at the root of the tree 
 of despotism ; a tree springing from the soil of 
 human selfishness, supported by props of supersti- 
 
THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. ']'] 
 
 tion and error, and watered with widow's tears and 
 the blood of martyred innocence ; a tree whose 
 poisonous roots had sunken deep into the heart of 
 humanity, and for centuries had sapped the Hfe-blood 
 of the earth, while its upas-like branches, fruitful of 
 naught but misery and despair, arose and over- 
 shadowed with gloom the genius, the hopes, the 
 exertions of the children of men. 
 
 Why, it might here be asked, why, in the economy 
 of a merciful God, was this hideous growth permitted 
 to develop ; feeding on the fat of the land, usurping 
 in the vineyard of the Lord, places worthy to be 
 filled only by plants of rarest virtue? Why did not 
 the Master, who finally gave command that it be hewn 
 down and cast into the fire, ages before, while it was 
 yet a feeble shrub, cause it to be uprooted and 
 destroyed? Perchance that man, whose primal diso- 
 bedience had forfeited his claim to a happier estate, 
 might eat his fill of the fruit of bitterness and become 
 wise through experience of suffering. Or, perchance, 
 that once when the Master would have answered the 
 prayers of the oppressed and swept the umbrageous 
 curse from the face of His footstool, and had sent His 
 only Son to inaugurate the work of reform ; the mis- 
 guided children of the world, inured and wedded to sin, 
 
78 THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 
 
 preferring to crouch beneath the deadly shade of error 
 and eat of its product, than to partake of the fruits of 
 a pure and enlightened origin, seized upon the Son of 
 their Lord, stripped Him of His robes, spat upon Him 
 in derision, crowned Him with thorns and hung His 
 bleeding form upon the accursed tree, where He 
 offered up His life as a sacrifice for liberty! 
 
 Jesus Christ was a patriot! His country was 
 the world. His laws were the eternal principles of 
 liberty, and his followers, in every age, have been the 
 chosen champions of freedom ! 
 
 For ages, that seemed multiplied by the crimes 
 and sufferings they beheld, the tree of evil domin- 
 ion, \vith its spreading boughs of priestly and polit- 
 ical power, was permitted to expand and flourish ; 
 its snake-like tendrils grasping and choking out the 
 fairest of the Bowers^ and its death- diffusing vapors 
 scattering- bliirht and ruin broadcast over the land. 
 But the fated time at length drew nigh. The rank 
 and venomous growth had encumbered the' soil to 
 an extent which threatened universal extinction. The 
 time for its downfall had arrived. The great God 
 of heaven had decreed its destruction. 
 
 But how was the blow to be struck? The 
 process of eradication must needs be gradual ; the 
 
THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 79 
 
 supporting props must first be moved, that its over- 
 throw might be unimpeded ; the withered Hmbs must 
 next be lopped, lest the falling ruin crush with its 
 tremendous weight the choice and tender shrubs of 
 the garden. 
 
 Among the most notable agents on whom the 
 earlier dut}^ devolved, was one known to men as 
 Christopher Columbus. With the unquenchable fire 
 of enterprise burning in his breast, and the light of 
 inspiration beaming like a star on his pathway, he 
 explored the liquid wilderness of the West, "pushed 
 his prows into the setting sun," shattered to atoms 
 the superstitions of his age and found the land long 
 destined as the fostering nurse of human liberty. 
 
 Hark! to the result — the crash of falling branch- 
 es on the eastern shores of the Atlantic ! A Ger- 
 man monk named Luther has arisen, and continuing 
 the work of Wyckliffe and of Huss, following in 
 the footsteps and fulfilling the mission of his mar- 
 tyred predecessors — the rotten fabric of religious ty- 
 rann\- is shaken from centre to circumference beneath 
 the vigorous strokes of the axe of reformation. 
 
 The political bough is next assailed. The iron- 
 handed Cromwell appears, and though his task was 
 bold and bloody, and he requited with oppression the 
 
8o THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 
 
 evils of oppression he opposed, the effects were des- 
 tined to endure, and the Power which nerved his arm 
 and fired his soul to action, evolved good even from 
 the evil he wrought. 
 
 The love of freedom and its appreciation were now 
 implanted within the human heart. The germs of 
 liberty, sown on the soils of Europe, transplanted to 
 the fertile wilds of America, were springing forth on 
 every hand, filling the air with fragrance and giving 
 o-lad promise of a bright and flowery future. The 
 season was approaching when the Father of life, the 
 Inspirer of patriots, the Almighty Maker of the world 
 would set His hand again, the second time, to recover 
 the lost and found ; to clear away the crumbling debris 
 of the past and establish His righteous cause for- 
 evermore in the midst of mankind. 
 
 On the virorin shores of Columbia, a thousand 
 leagues from the king-governed dominions of the Old 
 World, with a wall of rolling billows between, the 
 allwise Ruler of the universe had foreseen the oppor- 
 tunity which favored his vast design. The decisive 
 stroke, which the finger of long-suffering Providence 
 had held for three centuries in abeyance, at last 
 descended. The whole earth shook with the concus- 
 sion, the heavens re-echoed the exultant shouts of 
 
THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 8 1 
 
 patriotism, and the solid globe, to its remotest bound, 
 reverberated the loud crash of tumbling tyranny ! 
 
 The deed was done. The problem planned of 
 God, propounded by the American Declaration, had 
 been solved by the weapon of a Washington. 
 
 The results are themes of history. Great Bri- 
 tain lost her colonies, and involved in foreign and 
 domestic turbulence, her star of prestige visibly waned 
 from the proud zenith of national supremacy. 
 
 The next blow fell upon France, whose groaning 
 millions, bowed down for ages beneath the accumul- 
 ated curse of monarchial and ecclesiastical despotism, 
 arose like a blind Samson of wrath, and grappling 
 the pillars of the Church and State, with one stupen- 
 dous effort threw down the gigantic structure of king 
 and priestcraft, and founded the Republic of Atheism 
 — misnamed Reason — upon the smouldering ruins of 
 the ancient state. 
 
 Next, behold the Corsican Bonaparte, the invin- 
 cible Son of Destiny, striding through Europe over 
 prostrate potentates and powers, himself the uncon- 
 scious instrument of Deity, wreaking vengeance upon 
 the wrongs of ages and humbling the pride of the 
 haughty and the great. Conquering tyrants to be- 
 come himself a tyrant, and fall in turn before the 
 
82 THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 
 
 redounding thunderbolt which had previously cleft his 
 path to victory and renown. 
 
 The cause of Freedom, retarded by the excesses 
 of her too zealous advocates or matricidal offspring, 
 continued to roll forth. Greece with her Bozarris and 
 Miaulis, Italy with her Mazzinis and Garabaldis, Ire- 
 land with an Emmett, an O'Connell, Spain with her 
 Liberals, and the disaffected factions of Germany and 
 Hungaria rushed into the ranks of revolt ; while on 
 our o.wn continent, Mexico and the South American 
 states, each with its patriot champion, threw off the 
 Spanish yoke and established themselves upon the 
 broad principles of republican government. All join- 
 ing hands, as if by preconcerted design, and moving 
 forward in the grand work of demolition and reform- 
 consciously or unconsciously executing the purposes 
 of that Being in whose eternal bosom it is decreed 
 that the poor and meek of the earth shall inherit it, 
 and the pride and haughtiness of man, exalted in cor- 
 ruption and unrighteousness, shall be brought down 
 to whisper from the dust. 
 
 Has the past not been a fearful lesson, a warn- 
 ing to the oppressor for all succeeding time? Will the 
 world learn wisdom from experience and henceforth 
 accord mankind their sacred and inviolable rights ? Or 
 
THE NATAL DAY OF LIBERTY. 83 
 
 must the storm whose hoarse mutterings are heard 
 throughout the earth, burst forth to sweep it as with 
 besom of destruction, that the cries and prayers of the 
 down-trodden shall cease to ascend into the ears of the 
 Lord of Sabaoth, whose anger is kindled, whose "sword 
 is bathed in heaven," to fall upon the workers of iniqui- 
 ty who forge fetters for the souls of men, and, heed- 
 less of unnumbered premonitions, wade through rivers 
 of crime and corruption to the unhallowed exercise 
 of unrighteous dominion? 
 
 Let us hope the sad lesson has been learned ; 
 that man will cease his "inhumanity to man;" that 
 the clouds of the past will be banished by the sun- 
 light of the future, and the glorious Ensign of Liberty, 
 now wavine from ocean to ocean, ere lonof will float 
 triumphant over an emancipated world. That the 
 heroic Declaration, which affirmed man's rights of 
 freedom and equality ; the grand old Constitution, 
 which guarantees those rights : together with the 
 Gospel of Salvation, restored for the high purpose of 
 their perpetuation, will be everywhere honored as 
 emanations of Divinity; as the three grand messages 
 from God to modern times ; as the media of sanctifica- 
 tion through which our world shall eventually ascend to 
 its glorious and eternal destiny among the celestial stars. 
 
84 THE ANCIENT OF THE MOUNT. 
 
 THE ANCIENT OF THE MOUNT. 
 
 /g)rLONE upon the mount; a mighty hill 
 
 ^"'^ Capped with the lingering snows of vanished years, 
 
 Where towering forms the etherial azure fill, 
 
 Swept by the breath of taintless atmospheres ; 
 
 Where Nature, throned in solitude, reveres 
 The God whose glory she doth symbolize, 
 
 And on the altar watered by her tears, 
 Spreads far around the fragrant sacrifice 
 
 Whose incense wafts her sweet memorial to the 
 skies. 
 
 Here let me linger. O my native hills ! 
 
 Snow-mantled wonders of the western waste ! 
 With what a joy the bounding bosom thrills, 
 
 Whose steps aspiring mar your summits chaste ! 
 
 Not Language with her robes of rarest taste. 
 Could clothe the swift-born thoughts in fitting dress. 
 
 Surging upon the mind with torrent haste, 
 Wrapt in mute wonder's conscious littleness. 
 
 Where loom the cloud-crowned monarchs of the 
 wilderness. 
 
THE ANCIENT OF THE MOUNT. 85 
 
 Whereo'er I roam, and still have loved to roam, 
 
 From early childhood's scarce remembered day, 
 And found my pensive soul's congenial home 
 
 Far from the depths where human passions play. 
 
 Born at their feet, my own have learned to stray 
 Familiar o'er these pathless heights, and feel, 
 
 As now, my mind assume a loftier sway. 
 Soaring for themes that past its portals steal. 
 
 Beyond its power to reach or utterance to reveal. 
 
 Oh that my words were written in the rock, 
 
 Graven with iron pen, whose letters bold, 
 Surviving still the crumbling ages' shock, 
 
 Should stand when seas of chano-e around them rolled ! 
 
 In kindred phrase lamented one of old. 
 Knew he not well, ye mighty tomes of clay, 
 
 How firm the trust your flinty page might hold? 
 Have ye not spurned the fiats of Decay? 
 
 Are ye not standing now where nations passed away? 
 
 Ye hoary sentinels, whom Heaven willed 
 
 Should guard the treasures of a glorious land! 
 
 Had primal man the sacred garden tilled. 
 
 Ere yet terrestrial scenes your vision scanned? 
 Were ye of miracles primeval, planned 
 
86 THE ANCIENT OF THE MOUNT. 
 
 Ere rolled the world-creating fiat forth? 
 
 Or came at fell Convulsion's fierce command, 
 'Mid loud-tongued thunders bursting from the earth — 
 
 The martial music that proclaimed your warlike birth? 
 
 Ye voiceless oracles, whose intelligence 
 
 Sleeps in the caverns of each stony heart, 
 Yet breathes o'er all a silent eloquence, 
 
 What wealth historic might your words impart! 
 
 Lone hermit of the hills, that loomst apart 
 From where thy banded mates in union dwell ; 
 
 A chosen leader seemingly thou art. 
 The spokesman of the throng that round thee swell ! 
 
 And oh, were speech thy boon, what volumes couldst 
 thou tell! 
 
 Thrice wondrous things were thine to wisely scan, 
 And stranger yet than dreamed of mortal lore — 
 
 Hadst thou that gift full oft misused by man, 
 
 Though deemed his glory, thou mightst all restore, 
 'Till learning's tide o'erwhelmed its shining shore, 
 
 And doubting souls, ill-fated to deny 
 
 Bright truths exhumed from wisdom's buried store, 
 
 Might in yon stream persuasion's force descry. 
 
 And gladly drinking live, who doubting thirst and die. 
 
THE ANCIENT OF THE MOUNT. 8/ 
 
 Vain, vain the unavailable. Firm sealed 
 
 Those rigid lips whose accents might disclose 
 Marvels and mysteries yet unrevealed, 
 
 Realms rich with joy, or wastes of human woes ; 
 
 Or names of mighty empires that arose 
 And fell, like frost-hewn flowers, before thy face ; 
 
 Causes which wrought them an untimely close, 
 Dark crimes for which a once delightsome race 
 
 Was doomed to sink in death or live'neath foul disgrace. 
 
 And like the laboring brain that burns to speak 
 Unutterable thoughts, deep in its dungeons pent; 
 
 Or liker still to inward boiling peak 
 Of fires volcanic, vainly seeking vent. 
 Where rock-ribbed walls an egress e'er prevent, 
 
 Thou'rt doomed to utter stillness, and shalt keep 
 The burden of thy bearing, till is rent 
 
 Yon heavenly vail, and earth and air and deep 
 Tell secrets that shall rouse the dead from solemn 
 sleep. 
 
 Thus musing, lone upon a beetling brow, 
 
 Clothing with utterance the thoughts that sprung 
 
 Swift as the sun-fused flood's impetuous flow, 
 
 Methought from out the rocky caves there rung 
 A voice, whose tones bewrayed no mortal tongue, 
 
88 THE ANCIENT OF THE MOUNT. 
 
 But deeply clear though darkly mournful broke, 
 As notes from off the weird-toned viol flung, 
 
 Or, as the heavens lowly rumbling spoke, 
 
 Heralding the storm-king with vivid flash and stroke. 
 
 "Son of man!" — the solemn sound rose echoing high — 
 "Why lingerest here upon the mountain's brow? 
 
 Deemst thou no stranger ear was listening nigh? 
 No louder tongue than thine, which did but now 
 Powers of mine own so boldly disallow? 
 
 What wouldst thou? Speak! And haply thou shalt 
 find 
 These silent rocks their story may avow, 
 
 In words such as the will of human-kind 
 
 Hath made the wings whereon thought flits from 
 mind to mind." 
 
 Amazed I listened. Did I more than dream? 
 
 Had random words aroused unhoped reply? 
 Or was it sound whose import did but seem? 
 
 Hark! — ^for again it breaks upon the sky: 
 
 "Then query hast thou none, or none wouldst ply. 
 Save to thy soul in meditative strain. 
 
 Or heedless winds that wander idly by? 
 So be it ; still to me thy purpose plain, 
 
 Thy hidden wish revealed, nor thus revealed in vain." 
 
THE ANCIENT OF THE MOUNT. 89 
 
 While yet upon the circumambient air, 
 
 Weird echoes trembled of that wilder tone ; 
 
 While, as on threshold of a lion's lair. 
 Speechless I stood, as stricken into stone, 
 Methought the sun with lessening splendor shone, 
 
 As though some wandering cloud obscured his gaze ; 
 Expectant of such trite phenomenon, 
 
 Turning, mine eyes beheld, with rapt amaze. 
 
 What memory ne'er should lose, were life of endless days. 
 
 A stately form of giant stature tall. 
 
 Of hoary aspect, venerable and grave. 
 Whose curling locks and beard of copious fall 
 
 Vied the white foam of ocean's storm-whipt wave. 
 
 The deep-set eye flashed lightning from its cave ; 
 Far-darting penetration's gaze, combined 
 
 With wisdom's milder light. Of learning, gave 
 Deep evidence that brow by labor lined ; 
 Thought's ample throne where might but rule a mon- 
 arch mind. 
 
 The spirit's garb — for spirit so it seemed — 
 
 Fell radiant in many a flowing fold, 
 Of style antique, by modern limners deemed 
 
 Befitting monk or eremite of old. 
 
 The hoary head was bare, the presence bold 
 
90 THE ANCIENT OF THE MOUNT. 
 
 With majesty, e'en as a God might wear, 
 
 When condescended to a mortal mold. 
 It spake — the voice no longer thrilled with fear, 
 Like solemn music's swell it charmed the listening ear. 
 
 "Mine is the burden of the mighty past; 
 
 Far ages flown find oracle in me ; 
 Reserved of all my race, on earth the last, 
 
 Alike thy minstrel and thy muse to be. 
 
 For this my doom, fixed by a firm decree — 
 Wherefore or whence it suits me not to say: 
 
 But hence to pass might I no more be free, 
 Till destiny should guide or hither stray. 
 One who would quest my tale and list my solemn lay. 
 
 " Long had I watched and waited, yet no sound 
 
 Brake the deep stillness of my drear abode — 
 Save 'twere the thunder smote the trembling ground, 
 
 Or far beneath some torrent's fury flowed; 
 
 Anon the screaming eagle past me rode ; 
 The seeker after gold, with toilsome stride. 
 
 And eager eye to fix the shining lode. 
 Hath paused and panted on the steep hill-side; — 
 But none for greater things till now have hither hied. 
 
THE ANCIENT OF THE MOUNT. 9 1 
 
 "List, son of man, for I am one by whom 
 Tidings of times forgotten thou shalt hear; 
 
 Thy mission to dispel in part the gloom 
 
 That wraps the mystic past and chains me here. 
 Thou, my deliverer from durance drear, 
 
 Hearken till I the record have unrolled : 
 
 Then, rest not thou, nor toil nor dangfer fear. 
 
 Till all that I may tell, or yet have told. 
 
 Shall blaze in letters bright on history's page of gold." 
 
 The ancient paused, and, unespied till then, 
 A mammoth harp his bosom swung before ; 
 
 Such as, perchance, tuned Israel's psalmist when 
 An evil sprite his monarch tossed and tore, 
 And music's magic quelled satanic power; 
 
 Seated, his form against a crag reclined, 
 
 He waved me to his feet, and forth did pour, 
 
 In rollinor numbers on the mountain wind. 
 
 The song whose surges swept the channel of his mind. 
 
 "The soil whereon thou standst is freedom's own. 
 Redeemed by blood of patriots o'er and o'er; 
 
 When all else sank defiled, this land alone 
 Was sacred kept — a consecrated shore. 
 The Gods of freedom and of' justice swore 
 
92 THE ANCIENT OF THE MOUNT. 
 
 No tyrant should this chosen land defile; 
 
 And nations here, that for a season bore 
 The palm of power, must righteous be the while, 
 Or ruin's torch should swifdy light their funeral pile. 
 
 "Three races nursed upon this goodly land; 
 
 And nations glorious as the stars of heaven. 
 Have fallen by retribution's blood-red hand 
 
 Before mine eyes, since that dread word was given ; 
 
 Empires and realms, as trees by lightning riven ; 
 Cities laid waste and lands left desolate ; 
 
 The wretched remnant, blasted, cursed and driven 
 Forth by the furies of revengeful fate — 
 Till wonder asks in vain: 'What of their former 
 state?' 
 
 "Wouldst learn the cause — the upas-tree, which bore 
 The blipfht of desolation? 'Tis a theme 
 
 To melt the earth with pity, and to pour 
 
 Their sorrow move the heavens, as when supreme 
 O'er fallen Lucifer, the generous stream 
 
 Of grief half quenched the joy of victory. 
 Mark how the annals of the ages teem 
 
 With repetitions ! Time — Eternity, 
 
 The same have taught ; yet few, alas ! the moral see. 
 
O TEMPORA ! O MORES ! 93 
 
 "But to my tale. Since olden time, when torn 
 Was earth asunder, and fierce ocean's sword 
 
 Her continents and isles divided — borne 
 
 Safe through the watery deeps, as though devoured 
 By winds and waves that o'er their pathway roared — 
 
 The pilgrim sons of Shinar, faithful band, 
 
 From that far clime where Babel's folly towered 
 
 And language foundered on confusion's strand, 
 
 Won first this precious heritage — the Promised Land." 
 
 O TEMPORA! O MORES 
 
 A SATIRE. 
 
 'y\^ FOR a pen, to blaze on history's page 
 The follies of a false and flagrant age ! 
 Lay bare its wrongs, disclose each dire defect, 
 Link fast each shameful cause with like effect; 
 Hold high the mirror o'er the face of Time, 
 And bid him blush to read the damning rhyme ! 
 
 "The times are out of joint," nor surgeon's skill, 
 Empiric nostrums, sworn to "cure or kill;" 
 
94 O TEMPORA ! O MORES ! 
 
 Nor aught, appears, can calm the fever's strife, 
 Or set the broken bones of social life. 
 
 Herculean task! To me t' would scarce belong 
 To hurl the thunders of prophetic song, 
 Such as, of old, when mightier poets spake. 
 Made Baal to tremble and his idols quake ; 
 Or wield the lightnings of satiric wit, 
 Scorn's withering darts that dazzle as they flit. 
 To smite the doers of the deeds that rise 
 To summon swift the vengeance of the skies. 
 
 Mine be the task to single from a train 
 Of slaves that wear to wield a despot's chain, 
 A ring of rogues, disguised in patriot dress, 
 Who scheme for power their fellows to oppress ; 
 The willful blind who lead the willing blind, 
 Foes of their God, and traitors to their kind. 
 Who feign to point the better way of life. 
 Yet fill our land with bitterness and strife ; 
 Berate for hire, belie for daily bread, 
 Lampoon the living, and defame the dead ; 
 Or sit in judgment on their neighbor's flaw. 
 To flaunt their own unnoticed of the law ; 
 
O TEMPORA ! O MORES ! 95 
 
 Of "liberty," of "virtue" loudly prate, 
 While trampling that, while this they violate; 
 Vipers that creep for shelter from the storm. 
 To bite the willino- hand that made them warm. 
 
 Lay on, my muse, and lash where'er you find 
 Such shameless vices of most shameful kind ; 
 Spare not, but speak; let satire keenly sing. 
 And feel it most, who merit most the sting! 
 
 There was a time — oh, that such times should be 
 
 The few, far isles of memory's widening sea! — 
 
 Ere yet, as exiles from these ancient lands — 
 
 Their "hunting-grounds" — had fled dark Laman's bands, 
 
 When gentle Peace wide waved her olive branch 
 
 O'er sachem's wigwam and o'er settler's ranch ; 
 
 When each revolving sun that rose or set 
 
 Along the hills and vales of Deseret, 
 
 Gazed gladly down o'er scenes with promise rife, 
 
 Whose germs of beauty, bursting into life, 
 
 Foretold the rising of a brighter star, 
 
 From out Hesperian darkness flaming far. 
 
 Than fairest of the free-born lights which now 
 
 In sovereign splendor bind Columbia's brow. 
 
96 O TEMPORA ! O MORES ! 
 
 When honest men, content with honest toil, 
 Wrung frugal thrift from hardship's stubborn soil, 
 Ignoring wealth earth's bosom still might give, 
 Sufficed to live and teach the way to live, 
 Redeemed the waste and "solitary ways," 
 Where echoing rose their shouts and songs of praise. 
 
 Far from the realms where civilization reigns, 
 Where Freedom's bastards bind her sons in chains. 
 Where church-spires mark the sites of social hells, 
 And vice in protean form unpunished dwells, 
 They sought a home within the western wild, 
 And fraternized the forest's dusky child; 
 No fiercer found, less savage in the test. 
 Than priest-led mobs that trampled truth's oppressed. 
 
 On ground made glorious by their conquering arms, 
 
 Remote from civil strife or war's alarms. 
 
 They laid the firm foundations of a state. 
 
 Their country's glory to perpetuate; 
 
 Unfurled her flag on freedom's lofty hills, • 
 
 Whose atmosphere with freedom's spirit thrills ; 
 
 Where sweet religion, pure and undefiled, 
 
 High heaven's peerless, unpolluted child. 
 
 Faith, hope and charity might still "abide," 
 
 And truth and liberty reign side by side. 
 
O TEMPORA ! O MORES ! 97 
 
 Dear days of eld, that gild the poet's dream 
 Of pictured bliss with joy's remembered beam, 
 Your life hath left, like summer's faded flower. 
 In memory's vase, the perfume of that hour! 
 When vice was nameless — nameless for unknown. 
 When wretchedness no hearth could call her own, 
 When labor toiled where love and duty led, 
 And envy had not where to lay his head. 
 
 No ribald tongue their rites to ridicule. 
 
 No "ring" resolved to "ruin or to rule," 
 
 No rogues in league to over-ride the law. 
 
 No pettifogger fishing for its flaw. 
 
 No venal judge their venom to imbibe, 
 
 To give the judgment where he took the bribe ; 
 
 No pious wolves sent out from Christian wold. 
 
 In shepherd's garb, to fleece the trusting fold ; 
 
 No brothels, brawls, no dens of sin and shame. 
 
 Nor secret crime too horrible for name ; 
 
 No slanderous press such sins to justify. 
 
 Or prate of truth while practicing the lie. 
 
 Nor soul-defiling deed, nor sinful word. 
 
 Was known throughout the Mountain of the Lord ; 
 
 With Ephraim's lamb Manasseh's lion played. 
 
 And none molested, nor could make afraid. 
 
98 O TEMPORA ! O MORES ! 
 
 So Ephraim had flourished until now, 
 The fairest branch of Joseph's fruitful bough, 
 Had killing frosts not seared his promise fair, 
 Half turned his teeming field to desert bare ; 
 A moral blight which Hate's malicious hand 
 With fatal aim flungr broadcast o'er the land. 
 
 Ring up, bold prompter, bid the play commence ! 
 And Truth shall tear the mask from vain pretense. 
 This night the Thespian mirror shall reflect 
 Fair Virtue's face, nor hide Shame's dark defect. 
 
 Who first appears? Who else, in pompous pride, 
 With ermine stained and strumpet at his side, 
 Would dare come forth, bad, brazen, base and bold, 
 To face the glare of truth in plainness told? 
 Who else but Drummond, that ignoble name 
 Disgrace hath " damned to everlasting fame? " 
 A judge — of wine and women — placed on high, 
 His betters' patience, with their case, to try. 
 Who but recalls that day of dark renown 
 When through deserted streets of Mormon-town, 
 Marched Johnston's troop — that "flower of a host," 
 That faded "flower," alas! since well-nigfh lost, 
 
O TEMPORA ! O MORES ! 99 
 
 Thro' Drummond's deed, 'mid Wasatch winds and snow, 
 Where "flowers" ne'er bloom, nor auaht but winds 
 
 e'er blow. 
 Whilst he, disciple of a dastard school. 
 The perjured judge, the plotting- knave, the tool 
 Of traitors compassing their country's fall. 
 Her armed defenders far beyond recall — 
 Hugging the bribe his blackest lie had earned. 
 Hid up the records, — "books by Mormons burned" — 
 And skulked in haste, nor thought, nor cared for those 
 Who munched their mules amid the Brideer snows. 
 
 So Arnold, false to friends and freedom's cause, 
 Greedy of gain, nor hopeless of applause, 
 Fled scatheless, from vile treacheries elate. 
 Leaving the luckless Andre to his fate. 
 
 Declare, O Muse ! was justice e'er pronounced 
 
 On culprit judge, or deed of his denounced?. 
 
 Indignant did this mighty nation rise. 
 
 And shout "revenge" till thunder shook the skies? 
 
 Ah, no ; deem not such demonstrations are 
 
 For aught save Mormon culprit at the bar; 
 
 This time was scarce the damning deed deplored, 
 
 Albeit the eovernmental "ox" was "o-ored." 
 
lOO O TEMPORA ! O MORES ! 
 
 What followed fast on heels of wrong held right? 
 
 Ocean of evils, vast and infinite. 
 
 What followed ? List ; for freedom now was slain, 
 
 Reason dethroned, and passion held the rein. 
 
 Unpunished vice became by license bold, 
 
 The law was spurned, and justice bought and sold ; 
 
 No more 'gainst fate, might patriot force prevail. 
 
 Nor shielded sin our sterling laws assail ; 
 
 Right willing we to toil, nor basely shirk. 
 
 But fettered hands are powerless to work, 
 
 And over-matched by "sixty millions" strong, 
 
 Must watch the mighty torrent move along. 
 
 On, on it rolled, a surging flood of vice. 
 
 Eager to seize and virtue sacrifice ; 
 
 Priests, panders, politicians, on they come, 
 
 Like locusts swarming- to the harvest-home ; 
 
 Their aim unanimous — God's fort to storm, 
 
 Beneath the banner-blazoned lie: "Reform.." 
 
 On Zion's Mount — there fostered by her foes — 
 The gambling hell and brothel next arose. 
 Thrice cursed cumberings of the sainted sod, 
 Once clean and sacred to the cause of God. 
 
o tempora! o mores! ioi 
 
 Where rose aloft the voice of reverent prayer, 
 The horrid oath now rent the midnight air; 
 O'er streets deserted once, ere darkening night, 
 The glare of sin sent forth its baleful light; 
 The grog-shop, held aloft from arm of law, 
 Poured forth its poison with defiant maw ; 
 O'er walks where virtue long had wandered free, 
 StaeOfered the drunkard, lurked the debauchee ; 
 With watchful eye the gambler lay in wait. 
 To lure his victim with a Qfilded bait ; 
 While pimp and harlot ply their artful game. 
 To drag our youth to dens of death and shame. 
 
 Such was in part the plague — the canker-worm, 
 By Christian priest and press surnamed " reform." 
 Reforming what? — Great God! Thou knowest well — 
 Reforming life to death, and heaven to hell! 
 
I02 THE AGE S NEED. 
 
 THE AGE'S NEED. 
 
 TN ORDER to understand how a crisis may be 
 y imminent, notwithstanding the power, wealth, intelli- 
 gence and civilization of this unexampled age, it is 
 but needful to remember that intelligence is not vir- 
 tue, polite manners not pure morals, riches and refine- 
 ment not synonymous with truth and integrity, nor 
 political eminence and temporal prosperity infallible 
 indications of character and stability, effectual safe- 
 guards against the ravages of corruption and crime. 
 
 Sound moral principle is the only sure evidence 
 of strength, the only firm foundation of greatness and 
 perpetuity. Where this is lacking no man's charac- 
 ter is strong-, no nation's life can be lasting-. Wealth 
 and learning, though powerful factors for good if 
 properly employed, if perverted are equally as poten- 
 tial for evil, and civilization is a lofty height, a splen- 
 did precipice, glorious and advantageous if attained 
 and held, but a fall from which, as a necessary 
 sequence, must be all the more ruinous and terrible. 
 
 What has history said of eminence with- 
 
THE AGE S NEED. IO3 
 
 out honor, wealth without wisdom, power and pos- 
 sessions without principle? The answer is reiterated 
 in the overthrow of the mightiest empires of ancient 
 times. Babylon, Persia, Greece, Rome ! The four 
 successive, universal powers of the past. What and 
 where are they? Earth, that once trembled at 
 their names, now barely retains them in mem- 
 ory. From the very summit of pride, power and 
 human greatness, they descended, like Lucifer, to 
 perdition. Was it for want of wealth, intelligence, 
 education, civilization? No; they had all these, 
 and more, and still they fell. It was because they 
 had lost their moral character. They had squan- 
 dered that "immediate jewel of the soul," possessing 
 which the poorest beggar is a prince ; without which 
 the wealthiest prince worse than a beggar. They 
 had lost the stamina of virtue, the back-bone of 
 moral principle, and like rotten wrecks in a tempestu- 
 ous sea, unable to withstand the fury of the elements, 
 were beaten to pieces by the winds and waves and 
 buried in the ocean of oblivion. So long as they 
 remained upright and virtuous, battling for right and 
 upholding principle, they flourished far and mightily; 
 their honor unstained, their arms invincible, their wis- 
 dom proverbial, their power unquestioned and 
 
I04 THE AGE S NEED. 
 
 supreme. Like giant oaks of the forest, deep-rooted 
 and sturdy-boLighed, swinging wide their lusty Hmbs 
 and rusthng their bright fohage aloft, they laughed 
 to scorn and bid defiance to the warring elements 
 whose fiercest storms but added to them fresh vig^or 
 and longevity. But when their moral sap was spent, 
 and the fountain which supplied it was no more ; when 
 vice had dethroned virtue, and passion usurped the 
 place of principle; when they no longer fought for 
 freedom and self-preservation, but slaughtered and 
 pillaged to appease a morbid appetite for crime and 
 conquest; when from patriots they were transformed 
 into plunderers and oppressors, no longer regarding 
 the rights or redressing the wrongs of humanity, but 
 ignoring and trampling on the one, while they aug- 
 mented and intensified the other; when the rank 
 weeds of luxury, licentiousness, dissipation and 
 debauchery had choked out the flowering plants of 
 frugality, temperance, chastity — their hardy primitive 
 virtues — the day of doom and disaster was at hand. 
 Like trees struck by lightning, blighted by the fierce 
 wrath of Omnipotence, they forthwith began to wither 
 and decay, till eventually a strong blast, sweeping 
 through their leafless tops, shattered the enfeebled 
 trunks and tearing them up by the roots, dashed 
 
THE AGE S NEED. IO5 
 
 them lifeless to the earth with a warnino- crash that 
 echoed and re-echoed throughout the world. 
 
 They fell as men and nations have ever fallen; 
 sowing the seed and reaping the harvest of their own 
 destruction. Suicides, besotted in sin and drunken 
 with iniquity, holding to their own lips the deadly 
 draught, and madly reckless of results, quaffing the 
 poisonous potion to the dregs. 
 
 Let the nineteenth century beware. Let the pres- 
 ent take timely warning from the past. History has not 
 ceased to repeat itself, similar causes in all ages 
 will have similar effects, and the same circumstances 
 that can combine for the overthrow of men and 
 nations, are capable of conspiring for the downfaTi 
 and destruction of a world. 
 
I06 HOME. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 '^E who would brave the bounding billow, 
 
 To view the wonders of the world, 
 And magnify with vain devotion. 
 
 The scenes in foreign climes unfurled ! 
 
 Have ye ne'er deamed of nearer splendors, 
 Than beautify an alien strand — 
 
 The glorious legacies of nature 
 
 Bequeathed unto your native land? 
 
 Hast never thought, while rapt admiring 
 
 The distant starlight overhead. 
 There may be flowers of beauty blushing 
 
 Neglected 'neath thy careless tread? 
 
 Ne'er has it been my lot to wander 
 O'er Orient sands or Alpine snows, 
 
 To linger in the vine-clad valleys 
 
 Where Rhine's clear, winding water flows ; 
 
 I ne'er have watched the sun declining 
 Along the classic Grecian hills, 
 
HOME. 107 
 
 Nor pressed the plains of Palestina, 
 Nor mused beside Olympian rills. 
 
 But I have stood amid the thunders, 
 
 When shook the towering granite height, 
 
 And trembled where the vivid lightnings 
 Blazed on the angry brow of night. 
 
 I've seen the headlong torrent leaping 
 
 From crag to cloven gulf beneath, 
 And caught the snow-slide's whelming terrors 
 
 Descending on the wings of death. 
 
 Oh, tell me not that grander tempests 
 
 Reverberate with louder roar. 
 On Switzerland's historic summits. 
 
 Than on the Rocky Mountains hoar; 
 
 That fiercer rolls lauwine, thundering. 
 
 Than the snow-slide's fatal thrall, 
 Or lovelier the Alpine cascade 
 
 Than the Wasatch waterfall. 
 
 Say not the shores of limpid Leman 
 Their cultured charms unrivalled hold ; 
 
 When lakes that lie in yonder mountains 
 Are rife with beauty unextolled. 
 
I08 HOME. 
 
 Nor praise the skies of soft Italia, 
 Where suns in glory rise and set, 
 
 Till thou hast seen them bathe with brightness 
 The matchless hills of Deseret. 
 
 Sing not of Erin's famed Killarney, 
 
 Laud not the wave of Galilee, 
 For I have sailed the buoyant waters 
 
 Of Utah's wondrous saline sea, 
 
 I've climbed her everdurinor mountains, 
 
 I've rested in her peaceful vales, 
 I've quaffed her pure and sparkling streamlets, 
 
 I've breathed her life-renewing gales. 
 
 I love the land that grave me beinor; 
 
 Her features aye shall seem to me, 
 More beautiful than boasted marvels 
 
 Of all the realms beyond the sea. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE ATLANTIC. IO9 
 
 AN EVENING ON THE ATLANTIC. 
 
 I I AY-LIGHT fled, and evening came forth in all 
 her beauty. 'Twas a lovely night. The last 
 traces of the storm had disappeared, the ocean was 
 waving mildly, and the ship flew onward like a bird 
 over its smooth and glassy surface. Afar to the north- 
 ward, bristling like spear-grass above the horizon, the 
 faint green rays of the aurora borealis gleamed like 
 spectres upon the face of night, while overhead the 
 
 broad moon — the noble flagship of a starry fleet, 
 lifting on high her silver sail, floated majestically 
 through the azure ocean of the sky. 
 
 Nothing was heard but the soft murmur of the 
 .waves, playfully clinging about the vessel's hull, or 
 laughing in glee as pushed aside by the onward 
 gliding prow. Now and then a feminine voice pealed 
 forth in silvery rapture, as its owner feasted ecstat- 
 ically upon nature's loveliness, or listened to some note 
 of levity from the lips of friend or lover; but expres- 
 sions like this, or of any kind, were rare. It was a 
 time for meditation, as most minds instinctively felt, 
 
no AT BYRON S BIRTHPLACE. 
 
 and sacred silence shed her influence over the souls 
 of all. It was a night I shall never forget; a night 
 I ne'er wish to forget. 
 
 November i88l. 
 
 AT BYRON'S BIRTHPLACE. 
 
 NO. 24 HOLLES STREET, LONDON. 
 
 'TWERE, then, arose that sun of intellect whose rays 
 (^ shed such a lasting glory upon English literature. 
 Here dawned that meteor whose transcendent light, 
 in rapid ascent from horizon to zenith, startled, while 
 it illumed, the envious but admiring world. Here 
 sprung the protean brilliance of that many-hued career, 
 that like a gorgeous rainbow spanned the European 
 heavens, and vanished from view ere the half of its 
 wondrous beauty could be realized. 
 
 Poor Byron ! We cannot but pity, while we con- 
 demn his moral defection, nor withhold a fitting- tribute 
 to his genius, while bitterly lamenting its perversion. 
 Yet how many there are, aside from the prudes 
 who utterly denounce his writings, perchance for 
 
AT BYRON S BIRTHPLACE. I I I 
 
 the reason that they have mainly read the objection- 
 able portions, owe to this poet's genius, not only 
 a tribute of praise, but a debt of enduring grati- 
 tude ! How many there are whose appreciation of 
 the beauties of inspired verse dates from the hour 
 they first perused Byron ! How many, if they can- 
 didly confessed, would acknowledge that his poetry — 
 the poetry of youth and love — was the flowery arch 
 through which they were tempted to further enter the 
 glorious garden of the muses, to pluck from its luxu- 
 riant parterres the noblest thoughts of the world's 
 noblest thinkers! I have known those who did not 
 even admire the divine poetry of the Bible until led 
 to a closer inspection of the beauties of the sacred 
 volume by reading Byron's "Hebrew Melodies;" nor 
 had developed the slightest taste or desire for poetry 
 of any description until his winged genius had lifted 
 their souls to a pinnacle of appreciation, whence they 
 could gaze upon and recognize its beauty and utility. 
 The great mass of his sentiments are as pure as 
 dew-drops, as immaculate as the silver moon-beams, 
 and those only who are ignorant of his life and liter- 
 ature, or have gorged themselves merely on his grosser 
 productions, will condemn him or his writings as 
 utterly vile. 
 
112 "THY WILL BE DONE. 
 
 "THY WILL BE DONE." 
 
 TYyORDS that should be written in letters of fire 
 ^^ on the mind of every son and daughter of God. 
 A motto that should be engraven on every heart, a 
 motive that should guide and govern every impulse, 
 a spirit that should inspire every prayer wafted on 
 wings of faith through the open portals of eternity. 
 
 The fiat of the Gods in the councils of the 
 beginning, the chorus of the stars in the glad morn- 
 ing of creation ; the prayer of the suffering Savior at 
 Life's weary noon ; the song of Saints on earth, the 
 anthem of the angels in heaven ; it yet shall be the 
 closing hymn, the benediction over the burial of human 
 history, the solemn epitaph inscribed on the tomb- 
 stone of Time. 
 
 "Thy will be done!" A river of power and of 
 purity, flowing from the throne of God, making heav- 
 enly melody as it surges along the shores of life, 
 bearing like bubbles on its breast the mightiest of 
 human aims and achievements, it glides down the 
 channel of the ages, glittering in the sunbeams of 
 eternal truth, and rolling the music of its bright 
 waves into the boundless ocean of the Evermore. 
 
WHAT IS LIFE? I I, 
 
 WHAT IS LIFE? 
 
 Respectfully inscribed to the author's friend, President Joseph F. Smith. 
 
 jI^HERE are who deem life's lingering durance 
 T^ Desio-ned for freedom and delight ; 
 Its clanking fetters claim as music, 
 Its darkness worship as 'twere light. 
 
 Nor mindful still of loftier purpose, 
 Vain pleasure's winged flight pursue ; 
 
 Their dream: "To-day; there comes no morrow"— 
 That tinkling lie with sound so true. 
 
 Was such the charm whose soft alluring 
 Drew spirits bright from heavenly bliss ? 
 
 Did morning stars hymn loud hosannas 
 O'er false and fatal theme like this? 
 
 Speak thou, my soul, that once did mingle • 
 Where souls were never doomed to die; 
 
 Would worlds on worlds like this have won thee 
 From glorious realms yet glittering high, 
 
114 WHAT IS LIFE? 
 
 Where Father, Mother, friends, forsaken 
 Till time their hundred-fold "restore, 
 
 Await to hail thy welcome coming- 
 When time and trial are no more ? 
 
 Self-exiled from yon realms supernal, 
 
 Obedient to Omniscient rule, 
 Hiedst here to chase life's fleeting phantoms, 
 
 A truant in Time's precious school ? 
 
 Son of a God, 'mid scenes celestial, 
 Fellst thou from freedom to be free ? 
 
 Or, hoping rise of endless raptures, 
 For time renounced Eternity ? 
 
 O blindness dense, delusion mortal ! 
 
 Where darkness reigns disguised as day, 
 Where prison seems but sportive playground. 
 
 And spendthrifts waste life's pearls away ! 
 
 Be this their bourn that seek no briofhter, 
 Whom naught save worldly pleasures please; 
 
 Graves are the goal of earthly glory. 
 But man was meant for none of these. 
 
WHAT IS LIFE T I I 5 
 
 Call earth thy home, clasp thou its shadows, 
 
 Till here thy little day be done ; 
 My home is where the starry kingdoms 
 
 Roll round the Kinofdom of the Sun ! 
 
 I came not forth in quest of freedom, 
 To shrink from peril or from pain ; 
 
 To learn from death life's deepest lessons, 
 I sank to rise, I serve to reign. 
 
 'Tis contrast sways unceasing sceptre 
 
 O'er vast appreciation's realm, 
 E'en Gods, through sacrifice descending, 
 
 Triumphant rise to overwhelm. 
 
 Thus fetters teach the force of freedom. 
 Thus sickness, joys of future health, 
 
 Thus folly's fate proves wisdom's warning, 
 Thus poverty prepares for wealth. 
 
 Souls to whom life unfolds its meaning, 
 Ne'er hope full happiness on earth. 
 
 But patient bide that brighter morrow 
 Which brings again celestial birth. 
 
 Liverpool, October, 1882. 
 
ii6 life's lesson. 
 
 THE CHOSEN. 
 
 (jr\ELVED like precious ore from pits of obscurity, 
 purified as gold in the fires of affliction, burned 
 with the acids of scorn and contumely, tested with the 
 touchstone of trial, hammered upon the anvils of hard- 
 ship and oppression, stamped by the dies of sorrow 
 and suffering with the image and superscription of 
 Deity, and rung like suspected coins on the counters 
 of the exchanger, ere they are accepted as legal ten- 
 ders of God's holy government, and numbered 
 among the treasures of his heavenly realm. 
 
 LIFE'S LESSON. 
 
 JITOULDST thou learn from life a lesson, 
 
 Learned but slowly and by few ? 
 Wouldst thou know from death's dominion. 
 
 How to win the Ever-new ? 
 Then thy soul prepare for trial. 
 
 Bare thy shoulder to the rod. 
 School thy mind for self-denial. 
 
 Learn to love the Lord thy God. 
 
LIFE S LESSON. ] 1 7 
 
 Build no shrine to earthly idol, 
 
 Lest there come a shattering day, 
 Leveling to the dust thine altars, 
 
 Driving all thy hopes away. 
 Pleasure's tree may tempt thee sorely, 
 
 Golden apples grace the sod, 
 Touch them not — they turn to ashes — 
 
 Thou shalt love the Lord thy God. 
 
 I have gazed on beauteous woman 
 
 With a fond, adoring eye ; 
 I have stood where mammon's altars 
 
 Rolled their incense toward the sky ; 
 I have quaffed the wine of pleasure, 
 
 Heard the winsome notes of fame. 
 Armed with nature's gift and heaven's, 
 
 Fought and toiled for honored name. 
 
 I have seen proud mammon's towers 
 
 Dashed to atoms by a breath ; 
 I have lived to see the setting 
 
 Of the sun of love in death ; 
 I have drunk the dregs of sorrow, 
 
 I have kissed the chastening rod, 
 I have learned, if name be lasting, 
 
 I must love the Lord my God. 
 
I 1 8 CHRIST LEAVING THE PR.ETORIUM. 
 
 What Is wealth, that man should worship 
 
 Dust from whence his vileness came ? 
 More than help-meet, lovely woman — 
 
 Source and destiny the same ? 
 What Is earth with all Its glory ? 
 
 Earth shall answer: "Ichabod!" 
 Seek that kingdom all-Including; 
 
 Worship One — the Lord thy God. 
 
 LondoJt, March, iS8j. 
 
 CHRIST LEAVING THE PRy^TORIUM. 
 
 |NE of the most eloquent sermons I have ever 
 experienced, and certainly one of the most mar- 
 velous ever preached through the medium of the 
 painter's art, was. In the year 1883, and probably Is 
 still, on exhibition at the Dore Gallery, 35 New Bond 
 Street, London. I refer to the mammoth painting by 
 M. Gustave Dore, entitled "Christ leaving the Prse- 
 torlum," already celebrated In Europe and America, 
 and pronounced by critics to be the most wonderful 
 production of palette and brush that the present age 
 
CHRIST LEAVING THE PR.'ETORIUM. II9 
 
 can boast. It was executed in Paris, from 1867 to 
 1872. It was in a forward but unfinished state at 
 the beginning of the Franco-German war, and during 
 the siege of Paris lay carefully folded up and hidden 
 in the earth, to preserve it from injury by shot and 
 shell or other impending casualties. At the close 
 of the bloody and ruinous strife it was resurrected 
 and brought forth from its fiery baptism and burial, 
 and, as if still further a type of the divine character 
 it portrays, perfected and placed on high to elicit the 
 wonder and admiration of the world. 
 
 The first feature that strikes the beholder of this 
 beautiful and sublime specimen of art is its immens- 
 ity. The canvas containing it is no less than twenty 
 feet in height by thirty feet in width, and takes up 
 an entire side of the gallery. The figures covering 
 it — a veritable multitude — are life-size, and so strik- 
 ingly life-like that at first sight they seem to be actu- 
 ally moving about upon the canvas, thus investing 
 the picture with an inexpressible charm while cloth- 
 ing it with all the semblance of fearful reality. The 
 subject is explained by the title "Christ leaving the 
 Pr?etorium," the artist having chosen for the theme of 
 his masterpiece that thrilling episode in the history 
 of our blessed Redeemer where He, after being tried 
 
I20 CHRIST LEAVING THE PR^TORIUM. 
 
 and condemned before Pilate, is descending the steep 
 stairway leading from the Praetorium, or Hall of 
 Judgment, on his way to Golgotha, the scene of the 
 crucifixion. 
 
 The figure of Christ, to use the language of an 
 excellent critique on this celebrated picture, "is nothing 
 short of an inspiration." I had never before seen a 
 portrait of the Savior — and I had seen many styles, 
 both ancient and modern — that came anywhere near 
 suggesting, in my opinion, a correct or consistent 
 idea of Him who died that man might live. All 
 other artists whose ideals I have examined, in their 
 anxiety to make Him beautiful, have simply rendered 
 Him effeminate, and in nearly all paintings descriptive 
 of His passion, in order to depict the intensity of 
 His suffering, they have imparted to the countenance 
 an expression of despair and pain as undignified as 
 ordinary and repulsive. These features, together with 
 the stereotyped corona, blazing halo or moon-like 
 background for the head, as unsightly and unnatural 
 as the feathered wings given to -this day by Chris- 
 tian limners to their angels and immortals, have 
 invariably marred, for me, every pictorial representa- 
 tion containing them. But Dore, with the character- 
 istic daring of true genius, has departed entirely from 
 
CHRIST LEAVING THE PR.ETORIUM. 12 1 
 
 these traditions and conventionalities, and given us, in 
 this subhme creation, something that we can truly 
 feel approaches the inimitable likeness of one who 
 was indeed fairer and gentler, but at the same time 
 mightier and more powerful than all the sons of men. 
 Even the time-honored scarlet robe is dispensed with, 
 and in its stead the God-like form of the noble suf- 
 ferer, full of grace, of gentleness and unassuming 
 dignity, is arrayed in a garment as white as the purity 
 of Him who wears it. The head is crowned with 
 thorns, from every barb of which, buried deeply in 
 the brow it encircles, trickles a tiny rivulet of blood, 
 not far enough to disfigure the heavenly beauty of 
 the face beneath, but enhancing its calm and patient 
 expression, and imparting such a vivid phase of real- 
 ity that instinctively our hands go up to our own 
 foreheads, as if to relieve, by counter-pressure, the 
 cruel anguish of the uncomplaining martyr whose 
 sublime suffering we behold. The hair and beard of 
 the Savior are of a sunny auburn, and interweaving 
 the tresses that fall gracefully upon his shoulders, 
 course streams of deeper scarlet from the wounded 
 brow above. The eye has a wonderful expression ; 
 full of anguish softened by patience, and of holy 
 indignation kept down by a compassion more divine. 
 
122 CHRIST LEAVING THE PR.^TORIUM. 
 
 There is no weakness in that look. It is the face of 
 manhood, of Godhood, in distress. No petty anger 
 gleams in that celestial eye, but from its wondrous 
 depths the soft rays of pity shed their lustre like 
 the stars. It is the look of a martyr going wil- 
 lingly to His grave, the aspect of a king, all-con- 
 scious of the power He could wield, but unwilling to 
 exercise it for His own preservation or the punish- 
 ment of His persecutors. Around the head plays a 
 delicate halo, so soft and subdued as to be all but 
 unnoticeable ; not as if put there by the painter's hand, 
 but as emanating from the face itself, or as if the 
 cloud-hung skies, already dark with the impending 
 shadows of divine displeasure, had rifted sufficiently 
 to send forth a single ray of light upon the sorrow- 
 bowed soul of the mighty sufferer, and while the 
 dove-like sign of the Holy Ghost descended upon 
 Him, the voice of the Eternal Father were again heard 
 whispering: "This is My beloved Son, in whom I am 
 well pleased." 
 
 The Savior, for the moment, is standing alone, 
 freed by the repellant force of his own majesty, from 
 the desecrating touch of those who are thirsting and 
 clamoring for his blood. The broad flight of steps 
 down which he is slowly wending his way, is besieged 
 
CHRIST LEAVING THE PR/ETORIUM. 1 23 
 
 on both sides by the excited populace, frantically 
 eager to catch a glance at, or gloat insultingly over 
 the downfall of the despised Nazarene, and only res- 
 trained from offering violence to his person by the 
 protended spears of the Roman soldiery, engaged in 
 clearing the path toward Calvary. The balconies 
 and high places on either hand are filled with excited 
 faces and swaying forms, bent forward in attitudes of 
 intensest interest. At the foot of the stairs are the 
 huge forms of the malefactors, lifting up the heavy 
 wooden cross about to be placed upon the delicate 
 shoulders of Him who in that shameful burden 
 bore the sins of a fallen world. To the left of 
 the picture, a little way from the bottom of the steps, 
 pressed back by the spear-shafts of the unfeeling 
 soldiers, and hemmed in by the surging crowd, ap- 
 pear two female forms, one pale and delicate, 
 though very beautiful, arrayed in blue and white, 
 whose sad face, sinking frame, downcast eyes and 
 sweet and silent expression of sorrow, touching 
 enough to melt a heart of stone and fill the eyes 
 of all beholders with tears, contrast strangely with 
 the vehement grief of her companion, who, throwing 
 up her hands and uttering a desparing cry, sinks upon 
 the ground where she is in momentary danger of 
 
124 CHRIST LEAVING THE PR.ETORIUM. 
 
 being trodden under foot by the heedless and howl- 
 ingr multitude. The first is Mary the Virgin Mother, 
 through whose tender soul the prophetic "sword" is 
 even now piercing, but who has braved the agony of 
 the ordeal and dared the dangers of the occasion, to 
 obtain a passing farewell glimpse of Him who is her 
 soul's idol, the beloved being to whom, but three and 
 thirty years before, she had given mortal birth. Her 
 companion is Mary Magdalene. 
 
 On all sides gleam the distorted visages of the 
 rabble, their eyes glistening with hatred, their tongues 
 uttering execrations. One can almost hear the 
 shouts of "Crucify Him! Crucify Him'" swelling up 
 from their maddened throats. Here and there amid 
 the throng may be picked out faces that suggest for 
 their owners members of the apostolic twelve, sad, 
 silent and non-committal, the trembling victims of 
 hope and fear. More than half way up the 
 steps, a little in the rear and to the left of the 
 Savior, stands a group of three persons, richly ap- 
 pareled in sacerdotal robes, .-ith haughtiness of mien 
 and malignant triumph stamped on every feature. 
 In the foremost of these we recognize Caiaphas, the 
 High Priest, and in the others, one bent ith age, 
 
CHRIST LEAVING THE PR^TORIUM. 1 25 
 
 the Other more youthful, his no less cruel, envi- 
 ous kinsmen and associates — Annas and Alexander, 
 But there is one face in all that motley throng, 
 upon which it is fearful to gaze. Second only to 
 that of Christ in power of attraction, though for a 
 far different reason, an 1 so hideous of aspect as to 
 send a shudder through the soul of the spectator, 
 what shall we say, what can we say, of the counten- 
 ance of Judas, the accursed ! Half hidden by the 
 crowd, yet plainly conspicuous from the position he 
 holds, not daring to see or be seen by Him whom 
 his polluting kiss betrayed, wistful to fly, yet power- 
 less to move, and feeling, notwithstanding his con- 
 cealment, that the all-searching eye of the Master is 
 even now reading the secret thoughts of his heart, 
 he stands as if riveted to the spot by the conscious 
 horror of his crime, glaring gloomily askance from 
 behind the greenish cowl which lends additional re- 
 pulsiveness to his features, and quailing like a cow- 
 ard from some invisible foe, vainly endeavoring to 
 quiet the pangs of conscience, now darting like poi- 
 soned arrows through his soul. It is indeed 
 a fearful sight. The quintessence of horror and re- 
 morse ! Perdition personified ! Hell in one human 
 countenance ! Awful even to gaze at, what must it 
 
126 CHRIST LEAVING THE PR^TORIUM. 
 
 have been to endure ! As we stand spell-bound be- 
 fore that terrible picture of misery and guilt, our 
 sympathy . for the condemned Savior is turned into 
 pity for the wretch who betrayed him. And 
 well may he be pitied. No man need suffer hell 
 who looks and feels as that man does. No wonder 
 the Son of God could commiserate His murderers 
 and invoke the clemency of heaven upon the ignorant, 
 unthinkinof rabble who clamored for his sacrifice. 
 " Father, forgive them, for they know not what they 
 do!" But for Judas, the apostate, betrayer of his 
 brethren, shedder of innocent blood, willful sinner 
 against light and knowledge, what remaineth for 
 him ? Go thy way, thou doomed and desolate soul ! 
 Hide thy visage in the tomb. Thou hast betrayed 
 the innocent blood, thou hast sold the Lord of 
 life unto death, and written in a hand of fire damna- 
 tion upon every lineament of thy existence ! 
 
 In the dim perspective, near the portals of the 
 Hall of Judgment, having the statue of Caesar and 
 an interior view of Jerusalem for the background, are 
 outlined the forms of Pilate the Roman governor, 
 and Herod the tetrarch of Galilee, who "were made 
 friends together" that day; the former, distinguished 
 through the gathering darkness by his long, red 
 
CHRIST LEAVING THE PRiETORIUM. 1 27 
 
 toga, appearing by attitude and gesture to disclaim 
 responsibility for the tragedy then being enacted — 
 the "judicial murder" of the sinless Son of God. 
 
 There are various other features, thoug-h I have 
 mentioned the main ones, of this remarkable crea- 
 tion, which is only to be fully appreciated by being 
 seen. "Christ leaving the Praetorium" is a master- 
 piece, both of conception and execution, a sermon 
 to whose silent eloquence the dullest ear could not 
 listen In vain. 
 
 M. Dore has numerous other paintings, all of 
 them excellent, many magnificent, but the one I 
 have endeavored to describe is undoubtedly his 
 crowning effort, eclipsing by its sunlike splendor 
 the brightest of Its rivals, and compelling them 
 to shine with the subdued radiance of Its satellites. 
 
128 LINES ON LEAVING ENGLAND. 
 
 LINES ON LEAVING ENGLAND. 
 
 grrAREWELL, old England ! Thou hast been to me — 
 
 Albeit a stranger to thine ancient strand — 
 A friend, to whom, while longing now to flee, 
 
 I yet shall grieve to give the parting hand. 
 'Tis not that thou art fair — for fair thou art, 
 
 Far more than fame, than fancy's tongue hath told ; 
 'Tis not thy royal court, thy rushing mart. 
 
 Thy verdant meadows, fields and forests old, 
 Nor ruins grey from time's unfailing flight. 
 
 Nor palaces, nor temples manifold. 
 Nor all that woos and wins the wondering sight. 
 
 Where art and nature rivalline unfold. 
 
 Ah ! no ; all these I willingly forsake, 
 
 For scenes to me far lovelier and more dear, 
 From which to part did erst this bosom shake. 
 
 While from these eyes fell many a tender tear. 
 But 'tis that here I leave, perchance for e'er, 
 
 Hearts loyal, warm and loving, but for whom. 
 My lingering stay amidst, which doth appear 
 
 As brief and bright as Spring's ephemeral bloom, 
 Would seem an exile desolate and drear. 
 
LINES ON LEAVING ENGLAND, 1 29 
 
 Talk not to me, proud world, of worthier deeds, 
 
 Emblazoned on the scroll of earthly fame, 
 Where charity, self-trumpeted, may read 
 
 On flattery's page each gift and giver's name; 
 Talk not of friendship, tenderness and truth. 
 
 Till thou hast seen how bright that love doth burn, 
 Which sows the seed of unrespecting ruth, 
 
 Nor hopes a golden harvest in return. 
 
 Can I forget, when friendless and alone — 
 
 Outcast for sake of Him who lived and died 
 That man might live and never die — the tone. 
 
 The kindly clasp, the cordial smile, that vied 
 With each the other, friendship's truth to tell? 
 
 Or memory's air lose redolence of deeds — 
 Fair fruit of faith undying — deeds that fell 
 
 Like sunbeams on the soul, or goodly seeds 
 On fertile soil, all fruitful of their kind. 
 
 To bloom and blossom on through endless years? 
 No, no ; rather shall all-remembering Mind 
 
 Forget itself, ere mine itself forswears. 
 
 But see ! — the sails are spread, the favoring breeze — 
 Whereof our gallant bark hath little need — 
 
 Blows oceanward, and o'er the rolling seas. 
 By winged steam impelled, we swiftly speed. 
 
1 30 THE SEA S SOLEMNITY. 
 
 Friends, brothers, sisters dear! a last farewell! — 
 
 Not long I trust, though long it still must be,. 
 Howe'er so brief, till mutual bosoms swell 
 
 With blest reunion's fond felicity. 
 Adieu ! adieu ! How sad the parting sound, 
 
 Let sighing winds and sobbing waves now tell ; 
 Onward, speed onward, bark for Zion bound ! 
 
 Old England, bonds and Babylon ! — farewell ! 
 
 yune, i88j. 
 
 THE SEA'S SOLEMNITY. 
 
 jNLY souls where sentiment and feeling dwell, 
 who have been upon the mighty waters, floating 
 like an insect on a leaf amid the immensity of the 
 liquid waste, can realize that awful loneliness, that 
 sense of helplessness and utter dependency upon a 
 power superior to man's. 
 
 Atheism, thy home is not the boundless deep! 
 Ocean, thou art religious, thou art worshipful, and 
 throwest heavenward the thoughts of man as though 
 they were thy spray ! 
 
OVERTHROW OF GOG AND MAGOG. 131 
 
 OVERTHROW OF GOG AND MAGOG. 
 
 Suggested by the thirty-eighth and thirty-ninth chapters of Ezekiel. 
 
 ^J^HERE'S a sound from the vale ! There's a voice 
 ^: from the mountain ! 
 
 From the land of the waste and the village un- 
 walled, 
 Comes a sound like the roar of the rock-rending fountain, 
 Or the voice of the tempest when thunder hath called. 
 'Tis the voice of the Lord ! 
 'Tis the sound for the sword ! 
 Hear ye not the loud echoes go rolling along ? 
 Freedom's hand is on high, 
 The oppressor must die, 
 'Tis the triumph of truth and of right over wrong. 
 
 Oh ! whence is yon host, with its high banners blazing 
 
 O'er helm, spear and shield, as the sea's countless sand? 
 Lo ! an armament mighty, with power amazing, 
 Coming up like a cloud to o'erdarken the land ! 
 'Tis Togarmah looks forth. 
 From the lands of the north. 
 
132 OVERTHROW OF GOG AND MAGOG. 
 
 For a spoil, and to prey on the peaceful and free. 
 Thou art come for a spoil, 
 But the worms of the soil 
 
 Shall fatten and feed on thy bands and on thee. 
 
 Hear the word of the Lord, O ye nations ascending! — 
 "Touch not mine anointed, do my prophets no harm !" 
 Have ye hearkened in vain, that with hurtful intending 
 Ye have filled all my valleys with warlike alarm ? 
 Like the robbers of Rome, 
 Without cause have ye come 
 To trample the "scattered and peeled" as of yore? 
 Lo ! with thee and thy race, 
 Will I plead face to face, 
 Till the cup of my fury with vengeance runs o'er. 
 
 Woe ! woe to thee, winged land ! — wonder of nations ! — 
 
 Broug t back by the sword and the patriot's blood — 
 As a goddess thou stand'st, but shalt fall from thy station, 
 Tho' thy throne were as high as once Lucifer's stood. 
 Drop down, O ye heavens ! 
 From morn until even, 
 Let the arrows of wrath pour their fiery rain, 
 Till the birds of the air. 
 And the beasts of the lair, 
 Shall gorge in the fat of Philistia's slain. 
 
EDWARD HUNTER. 1 33 
 
 Yea, the Lord shall arise as a fierce, roaring lion ; 
 
 He shall waste them with fire, with famine and dearth; 
 He hath uttered His voice from the heights of Mount 
 Zion, 
 And called for a sword from the ends of the earth. 
 Lift up the loud voice ! 
 Let Zion rejoice ! 
 "For great is the Holy One in the midst of thee" — 
 Shout aloud to the skies. 
 Till the thunder replies : 
 
 "BABYLON IS FALLEN, AND ISRAEL IS FREE ! " 
 
 EDWARD HUNTER. 
 
 /gf MAN of God. Behold him where he lies, 
 
 ^■^ Stilled by the opiate men have misnamed death! 
 
 Deep sleep has settled on those aged eyes. 
 
 And quelled the pulsings of that bosom's breath. 
 No more that hand, uplifted but in prayer. 
 
 Save to defend or succor the distressed ; 
 No more that step, which climbed life's tottering stair 
 
 To where the worn and weary are at rest; 
 
134 EDWARD HUNTER. 
 
 That eye whose gaze the guilty soul would shun, 
 That heart whose genial current ne'er grew cold, 
 
 That noble life whose day on earth is done, 
 Shall we in Time's frail tenement behold. 
 
 His life ran peaceful as the rural stream. 
 
 O'er goodly deeds like glistening sands of gold, 
 Reflecting virtue from Truth's heavenly beam. 
 
 That shines o'er such with radiance manifold. 
 Haply some deemed him rude of speech and mien — 
 
 'Twas but the ripple of the waves, which broke 
 In candor o'er the rock of truth, I ween. 
 
 Where wrecks the bark of foul suspicion. Look ! 
 Look well to him whose smooth and velvet phrase — 
 
 Calm and unruffled as the placid pool 
 Within whose slimy deep lurks death — betrays 
 
 The hypocrite, the hollow-heart — hell's tool ! 
 
 Not such the soul of him who slumbers there. 
 
 He was a man ; belov'd of men on earth. 
 Approved of God in heaven ; beloved where 
 
 The morning stars, his brethren, wept his birth — 
 His birth terrestrial, which to them was death; 
 
 For what is death but absence? Now returned, 
 Life's warfare o'er, flag furled and sword in sheath 
 
 Could eye but see, ear hear, what he hath earned 
 
EDWARD HUNTER. 1 35 
 
 By valor here below — how we, this bright 
 
 Example emulating, would resolve 
 Anew to scale the far empyrean height, 
 
 Where glory reigns and endless worlds revolve! 
 
 Resound his fame, ye oracles of grace ! 
 
 Thou choral band, loud peal the solemn lay! 
 Ye mourning multitudes, behold the face 
 
 Of one who upright walked the narrow way! 
 God's nobleman indeed, here lived and died — 
 
 If death it be to lay the burden down 
 ■Of mortal cares, in mother earth to hide, 
 
 Till resurrection don redemption's crown, 
 Wh en good men die, 'tis passing to a sphere 
 
 Where all is life, light, liberty and love. 
 Who seeks for Edward Hunter, finds him there — 
 
 Enthroned among- the Gods in realms above. 
 
136 IMMANUEL A CHRISTMAS IDYL. 
 
 IMMANUEL— A CHRISTMAS IDYL. 
 I. 
 
 TN solemn council sat the Gods ; 
 
 t 
 
 T From Kolob's height supreme, 
 
 Celestial light blazed forth afar 
 
 O'er countless Kokaubeam. 
 Reflected whence fell radiant gleams 
 
 Of that resplendent day, 
 Far down the dark, abysmal realm 
 
 Where Earth in chaos lay. 
 
 Rapt silence reigned. The hour was one 
 
 When thought doth most avail. 
 The destiny of worlds unborn 
 
 Hung trembling in the scale. 
 A hush profound — and there uprose. 
 
 Those Kings and Priests among, 
 A Power sublime, than whom appeared 
 
 None mightier 'mid the throng. 
 
 A stature mingling strength and grace, 
 Of meek though Godlike mien, 
 
 The lustre of whose countenance 
 Outshone the noon-day sheen. 
 
IMMANUEL A CHRISTMAS IDYL. I 37 
 
 The hair was white as purest foam, 
 
 Or frost of Alpine hill. 
 He spake — attention grew more grave — 
 
 The stillness e'en more still. 
 
 "Father!" — the voice like music fell, 
 
 Clear as the murmuring flow 
 Of mountain streamlet, tricklingr down 
 
 From heiofhts of virgin snow — 
 "Father!" it said, "since One must die 
 
 Thy children to redeem. 
 Whilst Earth — as yet unformed and void — 
 
 With pulsing life shall teem ; 
 
 "And thou, pfreat Michael, foremost fall, 
 
 That mortal man may be, 
 And chosen Savior yet must send, 
 
 Lo, here am I, send me ! 
 I ask — I seek no recompense, 
 
 Save that which then were mine ; 
 Mine be the willing sacrifice. 
 
 The endless glory- — Thine!" 
 
 He ceased and sat ; when sudden rose 
 
 Aloft a towering Form, 
 Proudly erect, as lowering peak 
 
 That looms above the storm. 
 
138 IMMANUEL A CHRISTMAS IDYL. 
 
 A presence bright and beautiful, 
 
 With eye of flashing fire, 
 A Hp whose haughty curl bespoke 
 
 A sense of inward ire. 
 
 "Give me to go," he boldly cried. 
 With scarce concealed disdain, 
 
 "And none shall hence, from heaven to earth. 
 That shall not rise again. 
 
 My saving plan exception scorns- 
 Man's agency unknown. 
 
 As recompense, I claim the right 
 To sit on yonder Throne ! " 
 
 Ceased Lucifer. The breathless hush 
 
 Resumed and denser grew. 
 All eyes were turned; the general gaze 
 
 One common magnet drew. 
 A moment there was solemn pause — 
 
 Then, like the thunder-burst. 
 Rolled forth from lips Omnipotent, 
 
 The words : I'll send the first ! " 
 
 'Twas done. From congregation vast, 
 
 Tumultuous murmurs rose; 
 Waves of conflicting sound, as when 
 
 Two meeting seas oppose. 
 
IMMANUEL A CHRISTMAS IDYL. I 39 
 
 'Twas finished — but the heavens wept — 
 
 And still their annals tell 
 How God's elect was chosen Christ, 
 
 O'er One who fighting fell. 
 
 II. 
 
 STRANGER star o'er Bethlehem 
 Shot down its silver ray, 
 Where, cradled in a manger's fold, 
 
 A sleeping infant lay. 
 And guided by that finger bright, 
 
 The Orient sages bring 
 Rare gifts of myrrh and frankincense, 
 To hail the new-born King. 
 
 Oh wondrous grace! Will Gods go down 
 
 Thus low that men may rise? 
 Imprisoned here that mighty One 
 
 Who reigned in yonder skies? 
 E'en so. Time's everlasting tongue 
 
 Now tolls the hour of noon ; 
 A dying world is welcoming 
 
 The Godhead's gracious boon. 
 
140 IMMANUEL A CHRISTMAS IDYL. 
 
 He wandered through the faithless world, 
 
 A Prince in shepherd's guise ; 
 He called His scattered flock, but few 
 
 The voice would recognize ; 
 For minds upborne by hollow pride, 
 
 Or dimmed by sordid lust, 
 Ne'er look for kings in beggar's garb — 
 
 For diamonds in the dust. 
 
 He wept o'er doomed Jerusalem, 
 
 Her Temple, walls and towers ; 
 O'er palaces where recreant priests 
 
 Usurped unhallowed powers. • 
 "I am the Way of Life and Light!" 
 
 Alas ! 'twas heeded not — 
 Ignored Salvation's message, spurned 
 
 The wondrous truths He taught. 
 
 O bane of damning unbelief ! 
 
 Thou source of lasting strife! 
 Thou stumbling-stone, thou barrier 'thwart 
 
 The gates of endless life ! 
 O love of self and Mammon's lust! — 
 
 Twin portals to despair, 
 Where bigotry, the blinded bat, 
 
 Flaps through the midnight air! 
 
IMMANUEL A CHRISTMAS IDYL. I4I 
 
 Through these, gloom-wrapt Gethsemane! 
 
 Thy glens of guilty shade 
 Wept o'er the sinless Son of God, 
 
 By gold-bought kiss betrayed; 
 Beheld Him unresisting dragged, 
 
 Forsaken, friendless, lone, ■ 
 To halls where dark-browed Hatred sat 
 
 On judgment's lofty throne. 
 
 As sheep before His shearers, dumb, 
 
 Those patient lips were mute ; 
 The clamorous charge of taunting tongues, 
 
 He deigned not 'to dispute. 
 They smote with cruel palm His face, 
 
 Which felt yet bore the sting; 
 Then crowned with thorns His quivering brow. 
 
 And, mocking, hailed Him "king." 
 
 On Calvary's hill they crucified 
 
 The God whom worlds adore. 
 "Father, forgive them!" — drained the dregs — 
 
 Immanuel was no more. 
 No more where thunders shook the earth. 
 
 Where lightnings, 'thwart the gloom. 
 Saw that unconquered Spirit spurn 
 
 The shackles of the tomb! 
 
142 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Far flashing on its wings of light — 
 
 A falchion from its sheath — 
 It cleft the realms of darkness, and 
 
 Dissolved the bands of death. 
 Hell's dungeons burst! Wide open swung 
 
 The everlasting bars, 
 Whereby the ransomed soul shall win 
 
 Those heights beyond the stars. 
 
 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Vj^HOU art lovely, thou art fair, 
 
 f^ Maid of sunny, golden hair! 
 Eye of azure 'neath its curl, 
 Lips of coral, teeth of pearl. 
 
 Sure the soul that has its shrine 
 In that face and form divine — 
 If such things did e'er agree — 
 Must a soul of beauty be. 
 
STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 1 43 
 
 Radiant as a vesper star; 
 Gazing fondly from afar, 
 To mine eyes thou dost appear 
 Being of a brighter sphere. 
 
 Tho' I ne'er may call thee mine, 
 Lovely star, still o'er me shine; 
 Tho' I ne'er may see thee more, 
 Still thy memory I'll adore. 
 
 Thou art lovely, thou art fair. 
 Maid of sunny, golden hair, 
 And thy silvery voice shall seem 
 As the music of a dream. 
 
 II. 
 
 le)EAH ! loved name, of maiden lovelier far 
 
 Than earth has flower, or heaven a rival star! 
 Tho' flowers may fade, and stars grow dim and pale, 
 My love shall bloom fore'er; its light ne'er fail. 
 
 And tho' thy noble birth, thy queenly air. 
 Still rise before me as a golden stair; 
 I, too, can boast the blood of Priests and Kings, 
 And he that woos an equal birthright brings. 
 
144 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Then speak, my queen, the word of tender trust 
 That lifts to heaven his hope from out the dust. 
 Who fain his throne and thine would share with thee, 
 When Time shall meet and wed Eternity. 
 
 III. 
 
 LOST but loved one! tell me why 
 Thy mystic charm I cannot fly, 
 
 And though to love thee less I try, 
 All, all is vain? 
 
 If from that siren glance I flee, 
 
 'Tis but to sigh and dream of thee, 
 
 And till again thy face I see, 
 'Tis lingering pain. 
 
 In social throng, at play or ball, 
 The magnet thou, to me, of all, 
 The queen that holds my heart in thrall 
 
 With constant sway. 
 One glance from out those love-lit eyes. 
 One word from lips whose sweetness vies 
 The fabled nectar of the skies. 
 
 And I obey. 
 
STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 1 45 
 
 The heedless winds may hear thee speak, 
 The insect, sporting, kiss thy cheek, 
 And other souls thy smiles may seek 
 
 And haply find; 
 But I, thy lover, from afar 
 Must gaze as on some distant star. 
 And wage with fate unequal war, 
 
 All unresi^ned. 
 
 Must we, like streams, run on forever, 
 Though nearing oft, uniting never; 
 Shall cruel doom our lives dissever 
 
 In heaven, as here? 
 Or, in the light of happier spheres. 
 Where live our hopes without our fears, 
 Will mutual love smile through our tears, 
 
 And blend us there? 
 
 IV. 
 
 STIERCELY rolls the mountain torrent ; 
 
 Fiercer far the love I feel ; 
 As a rock by lightning riven, 
 
 Throbs the wound that will not heal. 
 
146 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Maiden, thou whose sunny glances 
 Cause this icy breast to flow ! 
 
 Can thy heart be made of marble? 
 Must thy bosom be as snow? 
 
 Like the sound of sighing breezes, 
 
 Sweeping o'er the wooded hill ; 
 Or the sobbing of the waters, 
 
 When all else is calm and still ; 
 Must this heart heave on forever 
 
 'Neath its passion, swift or slow, 
 And thine own remain unyielding — 
 
 Fixed and frozen as the snow? 
 
 Burns the flame that finds no fuel ? 
 
 Will the unfed fountain run? 
 Singrs the bird that wakes no echo ? 
 
 Blooms the flower that sees no sun 
 How shall then my soul's affection 
 
 Gleam with unrequited glow. 
 Or, like sun o'er Alpine summit, 
 
 Shine upon eternal snow? 
 
 Love ! — O, sweet but cruel passion ! — 
 Why art thou unkind to me? 
 
 Bowed I ever at thine altar, 
 
 But to see thee turn and flee ? 
 
"CAPTURED BUT NOT CONQUERED. 1 4/ 
 
 Nevermore will I adore thee, 
 
 False and fickle goddess — Go ! 
 For thy brow is white as marble, 
 
 But thy bosom cold as snow. 
 
 "CAPTURED BUT NOT CONQUERED. 
 
 Inscribed by a friend's affection to Elder John Nicholson, a 
 prisoner for conscience sake, Oct. 13th, 1885. 
 
 ^^/^APTURED, but not conquered!"— 
 ^; Triumphant words of truth — 
 
 Let them blaze in golden letters 
 In the eyes of age and youth ! 
 
 They were words of mighty meaning, 
 As they fell from lips of one 
 
 Who had borne the brunt of battle 
 Till the victory nigh was won. 
 
 Overwhelmed by force of numbers, 
 He was carried from the field, 
 
 But the brave heart never faltered. 
 And the strong soul would not yield. 
 
148 "CAPTURED BUT NOT CONQUERED." 
 
 From his lips in tones of thunder, 
 While his eyes shot living flame, 
 
 Leapt those words of heroism, 
 To immortalize his name. 
 
 And there rose a shout of triumph 
 From his comrades brave in arms. 
 
 As they closed their ranks of valor. 
 Undismayed by war's alarms ; 
 
 And they swore with solemn fervor. 
 By the God of truth and right, 
 
 Ere His cause they would surrender, 
 They would perish in the fight ! 
 
 Or, if crushed by weight of numbers. 
 And to dungeon cells consigned, 
 ^They would pray that truth might triumph, 
 Until lost the power of mind. 
 
 And they praised the captive hero 
 Who had spurned the tyrant's rod. 
 
 Who was "captured, but not conquered," 
 By the foes of freedom's God. 
 
NEW YEAR. 149 
 
 NEW YEAR, 1886. 
 
 a> 
 ^J^^HE wrinkled brow of Time 
 
 ^^ Another furrow takes, 
 
 Upon life's rocky coast 
 
 The old year's billow breaks. 
 
 Another round is run, 
 Another phantom fled, 
 
 Another link brings nearer 
 The living and the dead. 
 
 Wide opes the glorious future 
 Its gates of pearl and gold, 
 
 Its treasures vast revealingf 
 As varied as untold. 
 
 Enter — thou art welcome, 
 Free as the rovino- air, 
 
 To pass yon shining portal, 
 And climb the crystal stair. 
 
150 NEW YEAR. 
 
 Yet ere thou goest onward 
 To win the ghttering prize, 
 
 That woos thee from the distance 
 To fairer lands and skies ; 
 
 Pause thou and meditate 
 
 On what the past hath taught — 
 
 The guide-book of thy future, 
 With wise experience fraught. 
 
 Read o'er its joys, its sorrows, 
 Each cause that gave them birth; 
 
 Think on thy faults, those fetters 
 That bind thee to the earth; 
 
 Nor dream of endless freedom 
 From sorrow, sin and pain, 
 
 Till here thy might hath striven 
 To rend the cankering chain. 
 
 Hope not another's harvest. 
 No sickle save thine own. 
 
 In days of ripe fruition 
 
 Shall reap what thou hast sown. 
 
MEMORIAL TO A LADY FRIEND. 15I 
 
 No fruit hath sin, save sadness ; 
 
 Each seed its nature yields ; 
 From germs of virtue only, 
 
 Can spring Elysian fields. 
 
 The future lies before thee, 
 
 A waste of trackless snow ; 
 The record of thy foot-prints 
 
 No eye save God's may know ; 
 
 But none shall blot the story 
 
 From His eternal page. 
 And on thy memory's altar 
 
 'Twill glow from age to age. 
 
 LINES FOR A MEMORIAL TO A LADY 
 FRIEND, DECEASED. 
 
 JURIED in the furnace of this troubled life, 
 y Faithful as daughter, mother, woman, wife; 
 Crowned with celestial glory, thou shalt shine 
 'Mid souls immortal, endless and divine. 
 
152 THE BATTLE HYMN OF ISRAEL. 
 
 THE BATTLE HYMN OF ISRAEL. 
 
 |ARK the battle clouds are closing 
 Round the chosen ranks of God ; 
 Mighty ones, their courage losing, 
 Kneel and kiss the tyrant's rod. 
 Sons of Israel — heirs of glory ! 
 
 Is it now ye quake and quail? 
 Read again your lineal story — 
 Die ye may, but dare not fail. 
 
 Prayers of millions, watching, waiting, 
 
 Nerve your battle-wearied arms ; 
 Powers eternal, o'er us fighting. 
 
 Quell the foemen's fierce alarms. 
 Onward, sons of Faith, nor falter 
 
 With the glorious goal in view ! 
 Tho' your life-blood dye the altar — 
 
 What are life and death to you ? 
 
 He that loves his life shall lose it ; 
 They that sacrifice shall find. 
 
 What is mammon, ye should choose it- 
 Chaff that whirls before the wind ! 
 
THE BATTLE HYMN OF ISRAEL. 1 53 
 
 Fetters — dungeons — shall they frighten 
 
 Men whom demons must obey ? 
 Walls shall burst, and shackles brighten 
 
 Into sceptres at that day. 
 
 Hark ! the trumpet. Heroes, rally ! 
 
 'Tis the war cry of the free ; 
 Lo ! they swarm from hill and valley — 
 
 Loyal sons of Liberty. 
 See ! they raise the starry standard, 
 
 Long by traitors trampled low — 
 Freedom chained and Virtue slandered ! 
 
 Now they fall upon the foe. 
 
 As the melting snow, mad pouring 
 
 Down the mountain side they flee, 
 Fire from heaven their ranks devouring — 
 
 Shout ! for God and victory. 
 Lo ! from out the clouds descending, 
 
 Now the conquering host appears — 
 King Immanuel, earthward wending, 
 
 Here to reign a thousand years. 
 
154 POETS AND POETRY. 
 
 POETS AND POETRY. 
 
 Extracts from a lecture delivered under the auspices of the Teachers' 
 Institute, Salt Lake County, Wednesday evening, June 23rd, 1886. 
 
 TN AN age and world given up to the rush and 
 J roar of railways, steam-ships, the triumphs of elec- 
 tricity, the miracles of machinery and other mighty 
 practicalities, when things regarded as theoretical or 
 purely ideal are looked upon with comparative indif- 
 ference and are at a discount in the popular mind, 
 the utility of the poet and his mission are liable to 
 be gravely questioned. What is the poet good for? 
 and what is the good of poetry? are queries that 
 have doubtless flitted through many a mind, imbued 
 with the idea that nothing is useful which does not 
 in some way increase man's material wealth or minis- 
 ter to his temporal needs. . 
 
 To answer, in part, these queries, and refute 
 this sordid and all too practical argument, will be the 
 purpose of the present effort. And with an aud- 
 ience like this, willing to be and perhaps already 
 convinced that the poet has a mission in the world, 
 and that the world would do well to give him, at 
 
POETS AND POETRY. 1 55 
 
 least, a respectful hearing, I anticipate no very diffi- 
 cult task. 
 
 I am satisfied that much of the prejudice against 
 poets, and the distaste for poetry which exists in 
 this prosaic age, are due entirely to misapprehension. 
 Only those ignorant of what poetry means, will ask 
 the question; what is it good for? This is true of two 
 classes — those who have no poetry, or very little of 
 it, in their natures ; and those who are brimful of 
 poetry and do not know it; who are really capable 
 of appreciating it, and only need enlightening in order 
 to enjoy to the fullest extent the fragrance and beauty 
 of this flower plucked from the gardens of Paradise 
 and thrown to earth to delight the senses and refresh 
 the souls of lovers of the beautiful and refined. 
 
 It is my belief that many who think they dislike 
 poetry, are really poetical in their natures, and are 
 indebted to it, more than they imagine, for the suc- 
 cess they may have achieved, even in practical pusuits, 
 and for the enjoyment their lives have afforded them. 
 Notably is this the case with many public speakers, 
 who owe to the poetic vein of their natures — which 
 they perchance lightly esteem or entirely ignore — the 
 purity of diction, the magnetism, emotion and power 
 of utterance with which they sway the minds and 
 
156 POETS AND POETRY. 
 
 hearts of the multitude. Where there is no poetry, 
 there can be Httle or no eloquence. 
 
 The commonest error made in relation to poetry, 
 is that it consists simply in verse-making. Many 
 confound the casket of meter and rhyme with the 
 jewel of thought which it encloses, and, perhaps, in 
 some instances, after close investigation, they have 
 found the casket empty and turned away with feel- 
 ings of disappointment and disgust. Thenceforth all 
 rhymes were to them poetry, and all poetry trash and 
 nonsense. Perhaps, upon the worst specimens of dog- 
 gerel that could have been selected, they have based 
 their estimate of the whole library of song. News- 
 paper warblings on "Spring," "Snow," "Fallen 
 Leaves," or other hackneyed and effeminate themes, 
 they have classed with the divine epics of Milton 
 and Homer. The croak of a frog- in the marsh has 
 sounded as sweet to them as the song of the night- 
 ingale in the forest; and the bray of the long-eared 
 half-brother to the horse has been to them no less 
 lofty and soul-inspiring than the roar of a lion. 
 
 Furthermore, poetry, as expressed in verse, like 
 all other arts and sciences, has its technicalities. The 
 prose reader is puzzled by its transpositions, con- 
 tractions, ellipses, poetic licenses and rhetorical 
 
POETS AND POETRY. 1 57 
 
 figures, necessary to rhythm and style, and compara- 
 tively unknown in ordinary composition. And as 
 these require some study to overcome, the mind 
 naturally tires — ^unless the inducement to proceed is 
 greater than the temptation to desist, and turns in 
 impatient preference to the easier forms of prose. 
 This is doubtless one reason why poetry, even of a 
 superior order, is not pleasing to some. 
 
 But all poetry, be it remembered, is not in 
 verse or rhyme. I heard a very beautiful poem, a 
 few weeks since, at the commencement exercises of 
 the University. It was an essay on the " Influence 
 of Passion," by one of the young graduates. Not 
 two lines of it rhymed together, nor was it written 
 with any apparent regard to the rules of metrical 
 composition, but it was a poem nevertheless, and the 
 pen that wrote it was wielded by a poet, or one 
 gifted with poetic ability. 
 
 ^ * :{: ^ :}: * 
 
 Again I ask — what must be the condition of that 
 mind which hates poetry, which has no admiration for, 
 or sympathy with, the good, the pure, the true, the 
 beautiful and sublime ? Of such a one, might we not 
 say with Shakespeare ; 
 
158 POETS AND POETRY. 
 
 "The man that hath no music in himself, 
 
 Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils. 
 
 The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
 
 And his affections dark as Erebus — - 
 
 Let no such man be trusted." 
 
 Sir William Temple wisely observes, of those 
 who despise poetry and music, which are twin sisters: 
 "Whoever find themselves wholly insensible to these 
 charms, would, I think, do well to keep their own 
 counsel, for fear of reproaching their own tem- 
 per, and bringing the goodness of their natures, if 
 not of their understandings, into question. It may 
 be thought at least, an ill sign, if not an ill constitu- 
 tution ; since some of the fathers went so far as to 
 esteem the love of music a sign of predestination ; 
 as a thing divine, and reserved for the felicities of 
 heaven itself." 
 
 Thus it appears that poetry, so far from being 
 the trivial toy that many suppose — a soothing pas- 
 time for children or love-sick boys and girls — is 
 something of superior import, as worthy the at- 
 tention of the wise and serious, as of the gay and 
 thoughtless among mankind. Indeed it is one of 
 those things which only the wise can fully under- 
 
POETS AND POETRY. 1 59 
 
 Stand, and, as I have already stated, the reason why 
 many disHke poetry, is simply because they do not 
 understand it. 
 
 Poetry is that sentiment of the soul, or faculty of 
 the mind, which enables its possessor to appreciate 
 and realize the heights and depths of human ex- 
 perience. It is the power to feel pleasure or suffer 
 pain, in all its exquisiteness and intensity. All do 
 not possess it in like degree, nor can anyone 
 not totally depraved be utterly devoid of it. Nearly 
 all men and women are poetical, to some extent, 
 but very few can be called poets. There are 
 great poets, small poets, and men an I women who 
 make verses. But all are not poets, nor even good 
 versifiers. Poetasters are plentiful, but real poets 
 are rare. Education can not make a poet ; though 
 it may polish and develop one. The poet is a child 
 of nature, and, as the old proverb says, "is born not 
 made." The greater the poet, the greater his capacity 
 to suffer and enjoy. This is why poets and men 
 and women of genius are often such violent extremists, 
 with their lives and characters full of contrasts and 
 apparent contradictions. All heights and depths of 
 feeling are theirs ; vast is their scope and marvelous 
 
l6o POETS AND POETRY. 
 
 their versatility. They are either soaring Hke eagles 
 in triumph among the clouds, or groveling in despair 
 in the depths of the abyss. 
 
 The poetic sentiment or faculty, I have said, is 
 the power to feel intensely, either pleasure or pain. 
 It does not always find expression in words. There 
 are joys that are mute ; there are sorrows that 
 never sigh or weep ; but are eloquent in their 
 stillness, and all the more powerful for their 
 imprisonment. Many poets have never written. 
 They may have felt the divine fire burning within 
 them — every nerve and fibre of their sensitive 
 natures thrilled with joy or shaken with agony ; yet 
 were powerless to pour out upon the palpitating air 
 the burden of the song resounding through all the 
 secret caverns of the soul. The most eloquent 
 poets, " whose words were sparks of immortality," 
 have felt the painful inadequacy of language to por- 
 tray their thoughts. Even Byron cries out amid the 
 overpowering grandeur of the Alps, whose' towering 
 tops, glistening in their caps of snow, silvered by 
 the moonbeams, or frowning darkly amid the lurid 
 gleams and mutterings of the storm, swept as with 
 Titanic fingers the harp-strings of his soul : 
 
POETS AND POETRY, l6l 
 
 " Could I embody and unbosom now 
 
 That which is most within me, — could I wreak 
 My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw 
 
 Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak. 
 All that I would have sought, and all I seek, 
 Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one word. 
 
 And that one word were lightning, I would speak ; 
 But as it is, I live and die unheard, 
 With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword." 
 
 :!: H^ ;$: ^ ;?: :5: H: 
 
 I have quoted liberally from Byron, not only 
 because I admire his genius, but because he is typical, 
 in some respects, of all poets. Not to surfeit you 
 with his poetry, permit me to give one more brief 
 selection, on the vanity of human ambition : 
 
 "He who ascends to mountain tops shall find 
 
 The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; 
 He who surpasses, or subdues mankind, 
 
 Must look down on the hate of those below. 
 
 Though high above the sun of glory glow. 
 And far beneath the earth and ocean spread. 
 
 Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
 Contending tempests on his naked head, 
 
 And thus reward the toils which to those summits led." 
 
 Few men have realized more fully the melancholy 
 truth of these majestic words than the one who penned 
 
1 62 POETS AND POETRY. 
 
 them. Gifted by heaven with all a poet's genius, and 
 with all a poet's sensibility, he knew what it was to incur 
 the jealous hatred of those whom nature and nature's 
 God had made his inferiors. His sins were many, 
 and they merited punishment, but his great "crimes," 
 for which he was hated most, were in being gifted 
 above his fellows, and having the temerity to tell 
 more truth concerning them than they desired to hear. 
 He was harshly, unreasonably criticised on the very 
 threshold of his career; and later in life was covered 
 with calumny and opprobrium. His soul, like a finely 
 strung harp, swept by^savage hands, cried out in 
 resentment against the outrage, and poured forth a 
 mingled torrent of discord and melody. His satire 
 was as keen as the arrows of Apollo ; his invective 
 terrible as the thunders of Jove ; and upon the heads 
 of his traducers he poured out the vials of his wrath 
 unsparingly. I am not an apologist for the sins of 
 Byron ; I am simply calling attention to facts that 
 may plead in extenuation of his faults, and which 
 furnish a reason for the extremes of Qrood and evil 
 to be found in his poetry. Byron might have been 
 very different with other circumstances, other treat- 
 ment and surroundings. It was the stormy experience 
 of his life which molded the character of much of 
 
POETS AND POETRY. 1 65 
 
 his poetry. His soul responded to every touch, gen- 
 tle or harsh, that came upon it ; it was a mirror 
 throwing- back the smiles and frowns of all beholders; 
 a clear, calm lake sleeping peacefully in the sunlight, 
 but rippled by the faintest breeze, and capable of 
 reflecting all the terrors of the storm. Byron, like 
 all true poets, simply poured out what he felt. The 
 cup of sweetness mingled with wormwood, which he 
 quaffed and held to the lips of others, was made up 
 of his own joys and sorrows, compounded by his 
 own oenius in the crucible of his own brain. 
 
 Thus is this poet a type, in many respects, of 
 all children of genius. They who express most, must 
 likewise feel most, of pleasure or pain ; and this it 
 is which creates for genius its dual destiny — its laurel 
 wreath of" bliss with misery interwoven, its couch of 
 roses with its pillow of thorns. It is one thing to 
 sip the sweets of poesy, and another to provide 
 them for the world's delectation. That which gives 
 us so much pleasure to hear, may have caused its 
 author untold toil and pain. 
 
 H: * * * * * 
 
 This brings us face to face with the mission of 
 the poet among men. Says Holland; "Verily the 
 poets of the world are the prophets of humanity. 
 
164 POETS AND POETRY. 
 
 They forever reach after and foresee the ultimate 
 good. They are evermore building the Paradise 
 that is to be, painting the Millennium that is to come, 
 restoring the lost image of God in the human soul. 
 When the world shall reach the poet's ideal, it will 
 arrive at perfection, and much good will it do the 
 world to measure itself by this ideal and struggle to 
 lift the real to its lofty level." 
 
 I am not prepared to admit — nor do I suppose 
 Holland meant to say — that the poets of the world 
 are its only prophets, or that they are prophets in 
 the same sense and degree as the inspired oracles of 
 sacred writ. But I do believe the gift of poesy and 
 the gift of prophecy to be akin to each other; that both 
 are of divine origin, and that they generally go hand 
 in hand. Prophets are almost invariably poets ; and 
 poets, in many instances, have been remarkably 
 prophetic. Of the former class attest the writings of 
 David, Isaiah, Jeremiah and others — veritable proph- 
 ets and veritable poets — who, in some of the grand- 
 est poetry ever sung, have indeed "built the Paradise 
 that is to be, foretold the Millennium that is to 
 come." Read the parables and sayings of the 
 Savior, you who love poetry and desire to pluck 
 some of its sweetest and most fragrant flowers : 
 
POETS AND POETRY. 1 65 
 
 "Consider the lillles of the field, how they grow; 
 they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet I say unto 
 you that even Solomon, in all his glory, was not 
 arrayed like one of these." 
 
 Can our language boast anything purer, ten- 
 derer, truer and more beautiful? Jesus of Nazareth 
 was a poet, no less than a prophet, of pre-eminent 
 genius. 
 
 Time and your patience would fail me in even 
 glancing over the many conspicuous beauties of Bible 
 poetry. 
 
 sH H: * * * Hs 
 
 There are many who think there is no poetry in 
 religion. Such, I fear, do not know what poetry 
 means, or what religion means. Religion is full of 
 poetry, and poetry is full of religion. The loftiest 
 and sublimest, as well as the sweetest and tenderest 
 poetry is religious, and cannot be otherwise. I could 
 cite many of the sayings of the Prophets Joseph 
 Smith, Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Parley P. 
 Pratt, John Taylor and scores of others with whom 
 we are familiar, and you would feel the poetry 
 breathing in every syllable, blazing from every sen- 
 tence. The fabled fire that Prometheus filched from 
 heaven is not more strikingly a symbol for poetic 
 
l66 POETS AND POETRY. 
 
 inspiration, than is the Spirit of the eternal God 
 the very muse that has inspired all true poetry that 
 was ever written. 
 
 I do not include in this — I need scarcely say — 
 the poetry of sensuality, of brutality, falsehood, hypoc- 
 risy and lust; which disgraces, and not adorns, wherever 
 found, the world's literature. Neither do I palliate, 
 however much I admire genius, its prostitution to igno- 
 ble ends. No true poetry was ever based on any- 
 thing low and groveling. It is impossible to soil a 
 sunbeam. The poet may pervert his gift, as the judge 
 may disgrace his ermine, but the spirit of poetry, the 
 genius of justice, can never be dragged in the mire. 
 Day and night, dross and gold, are not more essen- 
 tially separate, although their edges may join, than is 
 the essence of poetry distinct from everything base, 
 sensual and depraved. It is that high sense of right 
 which scorns all wrong; the sword and balance of 
 eternal justice; the voice of mercy pleading for the 
 fallen ; the tongue of truth heralding salvation and 
 reform ; the oracle of liberty proclaiming freedom to 
 the captive, deliverance to the oppressed ; the thun- 
 der-bolt of retribution that lays the tyrant low. It 
 is akin to that Spirit which leadeth into all truth ; which 
 
POETS AND POETRY. 1 6/ 
 
 reveals things past and things to come ; which takes 
 of the things of God and shows them unto mortals. 
 
 :5: * * :J: * :!: 
 
 As to the question of poetry versus practicality, with 
 which this lecture beg'an, a few words in conclusion. 
 It is only a seeming chasm which divides them — the 
 difference between cause and effect. The world is 
 indebted to poetry for its practical triumphs more 
 than is generally supposed. Poetry has unveiled sci- 
 ence, applauded enterprise, stimulated research and 
 led to discovery in all ages. 
 
 :'ti :!: :t: ::: Jj: ^ 
 
 Poetry is the elder sister of history, the mother 
 of language, the ancestress of civilization. 
 
 The poet was a boon-giver and benefactor from 
 the beginning. His seat is among the highest up 
 that mount whose summit peers into the sources of 
 thought, and like the mountain-peaks at sunrise, his 
 mind has ever caught the first glimmerings of light 
 as it dawned upon the world. His brain has been 
 as the torch of the Almighty to kindle and illumine 
 the nations ; his mind the fountain whence have 
 sprung thoughts that have induced millions to think. 
 The ideas he first advanced have awakened ideas in 
 others, until the spring has become a running 
 
1 68 EDUCATION. 
 
 brook, the runnino- brook a river, the river an ocean 
 of ideas, inventions and achievements that have flood- 
 ed and filled the earth with glory and civilization. 
 
 But the end is not yet. There are heights to 
 climb which have never been surmounted ; depths to 
 fathom which still remain unsounded. The wheels 
 of progress are not idle ; the work of Omnipotence 
 is speeding onward ; and the world and human race, 
 though far from the goal of perfection, will yet be 
 lifted to the poetic standard and raised to the poet's 
 ideal. 
 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 TIT HAT are those stars that bespangle yonder heavens, 
 ^^ glittering like jewels upon the bosom of night? 
 Educated worlds, or worlds that are being educated ; 
 homes of the redeemed and glorified, or of those 
 who, like ourselves, yet hope for glorification. Is 
 not our earth itself at school ? Is not every form of 
 life upon its surface in process of preparation for some- 
 thing higher, nobler and better to come ? 
 
TRUTH, 169 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 /DTN ocean jewel, cast upon the strand, 
 
 Unseen, yet glittering 'neath the trampled sand. 
 
 Neglected and alone, in darkness lay. 
 
 Till time, in many a wave, had rolled away. 
 
 In vain the loud surge dashed upon the shore. 
 In vain the lightning's wrath, the thunder's roar. 
 Securely slumbered in its lowly bed, 
 A rarer gem than e'er decked kingly head. 
 
 At length, a shining edge peered forth to view, 
 A sun-lit drop, as 'twere, of morning dew, 
 And yet no glance e'er rested on the prize, 
 None guessed what lay concealed from human eyes. 
 
 Men came and went, but all were proud and vain, 
 They gazed upon the sky and distant main. 
 Eager for wealth, yet none would look so low. 
 Or stoop for gems, howe'er so bright, below. 
 
 Along the lonely beach one summer day. 
 It chanced, at length, a little child did stray, 
 Beheld the jewel sparkling in the sand, 
 And drew it forth with tiny, eager hand. 
 
170 TRUTH AND TRADITION. 
 
 And thus the treasure, which had lain concealed, 
 In fate's full-ripened hour to be revealed, 
 Long kept from pride, or mammon's sordid sight, 
 By humble means at last was brought to light. 
 
 E'en so with truth, the richest, rarest gem, 
 Save one, in Christ's eternal diadem ; 
 By merit worn, though oft in meanest guise. 
 Men scorn the source, and trample on the prize. 
 
 TRUTH AND TRADITION. 
 
 lEVELATION is ever the iconoclast of tradition. It 
 is human nature to oppose that which is new. 
 The pride of man revolts at the idea of admitting 
 himself in error, and his preconceived notions to be 
 false, or even defective. The flesh, naturally inert, 
 dislikes change, if it bring toil and study, even for 
 the soul's salvation. Self-interest pleads, in various 
 ways, in favor of the old, and against the new. Thus 
 hoary tradition, antique error, sits warmed and com- 
 forted, a welcome guest, alike in ^palace and in hovel, 
 while Truth, a pilgrim, hungry and cold, without 
 stands shivering in the frosty air. 
 
ENOCH. 171 
 
 ENOCH. 
 
 Vi^HE morn of Time, yet young, was hasting on, 
 f And Earth, e'en now, was old in wickedness; 
 Nor earth, in sooth, but they who from her breast 
 Drew hfe and nourishment — her offspring, man. 
 Noblest, though frailest work of Deity. 
 
 The world, in midnight darkness chained, lay prone 
 At feet of Lucifer; and fiends did laugh, 
 And hell rejoiced, and all her demon hosts 
 Did dance and clap their hands with cruel joy; 
 While Gods and angels wept, shedding their tears 
 "As rain upon the mountains," It was time. 
 Yea, heaven's set time, to stem the tide of woe. 
 Earth's mighty tide of crime and misery; 
 To rescue from the whelming waves of vice. 
 Whose rivers seek the ocean of despair, 
 A faithful few, who, from the rock of truth, 
 Where righteousness their feet had planted firm, 
 Foresaw the pending ruin of the world. 
 
1/2 ENOCH. 
 
 Work meet for savior souls, redeemers rare, 
 Noble and mighty ones, foretried, foreknown ; 
 On earths like ours the mission — Mercy's own — 
 Of such as him who shines pre-eminent, 
 "First-born of many brethren." 
 
 Enoch came, 
 And Zion, city of the Saints, arose, 
 A haven of the sanctified and pure, 
 Oasis-like 'mid burning sands of sin. 
 
 The chain of death was broken. Devils glared 
 Aghast, and gnashed with disappointed rage 
 Their teeth, and trembled lest perdition's gulf 
 Should yawn ere yet 'twas time. Then gathering power, 
 As though for Armageddon's conflict dire, 
 Hell's avalanche of burning hatred hurled 
 Upon the hapless sons of earth, who scorned 
 The refuge of the righteous — Zion's towers — 
 That, glittering with the glory of the Gods, 
 Bade all her foes beware, nor venture near 
 The blest abode of angels evermore. 
 
 The world waxed foul in wickedness ; piled high 
 A hideous monument of shame and crime. 
 Which, toppling with its own weight, crashing fell. 
 Whelming in ruin the guilty race of man. 
 
ARARAT. I 7 3 
 
 While Zion, winged with faith and righteousness, 
 
 Cleaving, as cleaves a bird or ransomed soul 
 
 The air, soared upward to eternal rest — 
 
 The bosom of the Gods — where Zions all, 
 
 From worlds on worlds, unnumbered still, have fled. 
 
 ARARAT. 
 
 GAIN I gazed. It was a scene sublime, 
 Yet awful in its naked majesty. 
 A buried world, by water freed from sin, 
 Rose grandly from the waves, and gladly reared. 
 O'er all, as at the first, a virgin crest 
 Of innocence and beauty ; barren all, 
 Of living soul, or life inanimate, 
 Yet rife with promise and fertility. 
 
 On Ararat's bleak top the buoyant ark. 
 
 The blessed ark of refuge, now finds rest. 
 
 With all its precious heritage of souls. 
 
 And germs of future growth — bequeathed from time 
 
 That was, to time that was to be — a bridge 
 
 Of life, the past and future linking, wide 
 
 The gulf of waters o'er. 
 
174 JOSEPH. 
 
 An eager throng 
 Streams from its portals: Noah, aged sire 
 And Adam of the new-born world ; his sons, 
 Illustrious triad, peoplers of the waste. 
 And parents to the nations ; each with spouse, 
 Queen mothers of a race regenerate ; 
 And all the myriad forms of motley life, 
 For earth's replenishment reserved in store ; 
 As winding rills, rejoicing on their way, 
 Adown the mount their devious paths pursue. 
 
 JOSEPH. 
 
 I'ER Egypt's ancient towers and palace walls, 
 The famine sun flamed hot. The withered earth 
 Lay gasping 'neath a desolating blight 
 Of seven years, decreed of will' divine. 
 And looked unto the Pharaoh's land for bread. 
 Eager to bring, in gold and jewels rare. 
 Barter for corn, of him that held in store — 
 Once captive slave, now ruler in the realm, 
 The Hebrew governor, to God and whom 
 Was plenty due throughout that favored land. 
 
JOSEPH. 175 
 
 And Joseph's brethren came — yet knew him not, 
 Their kingly kinsman — came and meekly bowed 
 Before him they had wronged ; as all shall bow 
 To Zion's King, and whomsoe'er He sends 
 His way to smooth. Though pride and envy spurn 
 Merit in meekness — e'en as Jacob's sons 
 Their nobler brother — bending shall they come, 
 When retribution's cycle once hath turned, 
 And sue for favor of the hand disdained. 
 
 Nor word of blame, nor withering glance of ire. 
 
 Fell from his lips or flashed from out his eyes. 
 
 "Joseph, am I, your brother, whom ye sold ; 
 
 Of Him redeemed, who sent me forth to save 
 
 My father's house, as He himself from sin 
 
 Shall save the world." Then bowed his head and wept. 
 
 So do the Gods in heaven ; on earth the same; 
 In judgment just, in mercy manifold; 
 Ne'er greater they than when forgiveness smiles, 
 Or pity weeps, above repentant sin. 
 
 Joseph ! thy name and nobleness divine. 
 
 With Him, thy Savior prototype, shall live, 
 
 And in fame's firmament forever shine. 
 
 Though worlds may pass away. Nor all that man 
 
176 LEHI. 
 
 In mortal life hath been, or yet may be, 
 Can dim the glory of thy deathless name, 
 Athwart the ages flashing, shedding still. 
 In "influence sweet" as starry Pleiades, 
 A lingering halo o'er the land of Nile. 
 
 O'er all thy brethren blest, thy fruitful bough 
 Shall flourish; not alone in Canaan's land; 
 But, leaping o'er a wall of many waves. 
 Shall bloom and bear unto the utmost bound 
 Of Zion's everlasting hills. Thy seed 
 An ensign yet shall raise, and unto thee 
 Shall Ephraim push thy sons and daughters fair, 
 From every land by saving blood besprent ! 
 
 LEHI. 
 
 VjyHE ocean rolls upon my raptured gaze, 
 
 f^ A w^derness of waves ; and now the land. 
 The land of Joseph's promise, freedom's fame. 
 Its glorious crest uprears, Lo ! and behold. 
 Where, on the mighty waters, doth appear 
 A barge, storm-driven to the distant shore. 
 
LEHI. 177 
 
 From far Jerusalem, destruction-doomed, 
 
 By faith upborne, impelled by power divine, 
 
 Goes Lehi forth, a prophet pioneer ; 
 
 As erst Mahonri, Jared, and their band — 
 
 In later time Columbus — to unveil 
 
 The hidden hemisphere. His lot to reap. 
 
 And plant for future years, hope's golden grain — 
 
 The promise of his fathers. 
 
 Ere the hour 
 Which summons his return from earthly toil. 
 To realms that bide the coming of their king. 
 He calls his kindred near — their hearts the while 
 Aglow beneath his burning words — and tells 
 Of glorious things to be ; of Ephraim's fame, 
 Manasseh's destiny. Of Joseph speaks, 
 Their great progenitor ; of chosen seer. 
 Who comes anon that ancient name to bear, 
 And wondrous work perform in latter days ; 
 Of records that shall whisper from the dust, 
 Revealing mysteries, unseen, unheard. 
 And mightier than mortal tongue may tell. 
 This done, the dying seer his benison 
 On all doth seal, and sinks in death's repose. 
 
178 THEN AND NOW. 
 
 Past angels, Gods, and sentinels, who guard 
 The gates celestial, challengeless and free, 
 That sovereign spirit soars unto its own ; 
 By shouting millions welcomed back again. 
 With all his new-won laurels on his brow — 
 The meed of valor and of victory — 
 To exaltations endless as the lives. 
 
 THEN AND NOW. 
 
 tg)EHOLD a woman! On her queenly brow 
 
 A crown of stars, twelve gems of glory shine. 
 Her mantle is the sun ; beneath her feet 
 The moon's pale lustre beams. Fair as the morn 
 She looketh forth, sublime, yet terrible 
 As army wielding banners. Who is she? 
 The Bride, the Lamb's wife, waiting for her Lord! 
 
 'Tis Time's meridian, earth's noon of life. 
 And God, the Father and the Son, in flesh 
 Doth dwell, below all else descended. Word 
 That was with God, was God, and is for aye ; 
 
THEN AND NOW. 1 79 
 
 In glory with the Father ere the world, 
 And yet with Him to reign forevermore. 
 Himself the Father, Spirit all supreme, 
 Maker of worlds all numberless below, 
 And Sire of spirit millions, waiting still. 
 In primal sphere, the first probation. Son 
 Of God, because of flesh, He doeth o'er 
 All He hath seen, erstwhile, the Father do. 
 
 O'er Him the world doth marvel. Some e'en say 
 
 Elias, slain of Herod, lives again ; 
 
 And some say Jeremias. Vain their fear ! 
 
 'Tis Christ, the lamb of God, for sinners slain 
 
 From earth's inception ; Lord of endless life, 
 
 Foredoomed to die, that man for aye might live. 
 
 The greater one Elias said should come. 
 
 Nor he alone, bright herald of the morn, 
 
 But holy prophets all, since time began. 
 
 A king without a kingdom, of this earth, 
 
 Though ruler over countless realms above. 
 
 And there are twelve who stand his face before. 
 And witness bear of Him in all the world. 
 The heralds of a kingdom yet to come. 
 Which none can see, save they be born again ; 
 
l8o THEN AND NOW. 
 
 Yea, none can enter in, save by the womb 
 
 Of waters, and the Spirit's holy birth. 
 
 "Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth 
 
 As 'tis in heaven ; " thus taught He them to pray, 
 
 Evangels of the testament divine, 
 
 The sowers twelve sent forth on stony soil 
 
 To scatter seeds of faith and righteousness. 
 
 Twelve stars that circle round their central Sun, 
 
 Lesser, though great in glory's firmament, 
 
 And Him withdrawn, reflecting radiance far 
 
 Of Gospel light o'er all the guilty world ; 
 
 A world that loveth darkness, loathing light 
 
 Of that great witness, which again must go 
 
 To every nation ere the end ; a world 
 
 Whose red hands reek with blood of innocence. 
 
 With righteous blood, of Prophets, Priests and Kings, 
 
 From Abel unto Christ, whose martyr souls 
 
 Cry night and day for vengeance on mankind. 
 
 The Sun hath set in blood, to rise again 
 And gild a brighter morrow ; and the stars 
 To earth have fallen, all save haply one, 
 That through the night of ages sparkles on. 
 The Church, the Bride, defiled and mutilate, 
 
THEN AND NOW. I 61 
 
 Her lifeless body torn and trampled low, 
 On eagle wings in spirit flies afar 
 Into the wilderness, where, nourished still, 
 She bides, of brighter, better day, the dawn. 
 
 II. 
 
 ^^ TOEHOLD, the Bridegroom comes!" Zion, arise! 
 The shadows lift, and o'er night's dusky beach 
 Ripple the white waves of morn. Wake, O world ! 
 
 Ocean of dispensations. Rivers, rills. 
 
 Return unto your fount and reservoir! 
 
 "And ye that follow righteousness, that seek 
 
 The Lord ; look to the rock whence ye were hewn, 
 
 Unto the hole and pit whence ye were digged, 
 
 O House of Israel, look to Abraham, 
 
 And Sarah, she that bare you. For the Lord 
 
 Will comfort Zion, comfort her waste places ; 
 
 Her wilderness shall be as Eden fair, 
 
 Her desert like the garden of the Lord; 
 
 Joy and gladness shall be found therein. 
 
 Thanksgiving and the voice of melody." 
 
152 THEN AND NOW. 
 
 Prophetic theme, fulfilled in latter days, 
 
 When He that scattered Israel doth a^ain 
 
 His ancient fold recall and gather in 
 
 From every clime, and plant their pilgrim feet 
 
 On Zion's mountain tops and Jewry's plains. 
 
 A crowning dispensation, when all things 
 
 Elias shall restore ; from earth's four winds, 
 
 From heaven's remotest bound, all things in Christ, 
 
 Before his last great coming. Here to reign 
 
 With Truth and Righteousness, his councilors ; 
 
 With Justice for his throne, and Mercy for 
 
 His sceptre. Nations all shall bow before. 
 
 Peace spread her wings, fierce War his pinions fold, 
 
 And Earth keep sabbath rest a thousand years. 
 
 Behold a woman ! On her queenly brow 
 
 A crown of stars, twelve gems of glory shine. 
 
 Her mantle is the sun ; beneath her feet 
 
 The moon's pale lustre beams. Fair as the morn 
 
 She looketh forth, sublime, yet terrible 
 
 As army wielding banners. Who is she? 
 
 Zion ! the Lamb's wife, waiting for her Lord! 
 
THE MOUNTAIN AND THE VALE. 1 83 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN AND THE VALE. 
 
 TJ^HERE'S a mountain named Stern Justice, 
 
 ^ Tall and towering, gloomy, grand. 
 
 Frowning o'er a vale called Mercy, 
 
 Loveliest in all the land. 
 
 Great and mighty is the mountain, 
 
 But its snowy crags are cold, 
 And in vain the sunlight lingers 
 
 On the summit proud and bold. 
 
 There is warmth within the valley, 
 
 And I love to wander there, 
 'Mid the fountains and the flowers, 
 
 Breathing fragrance on the air. 
 
 Much I love the solemn mountain. 
 It doth meet my somber mood. 
 
 When, amid the muttering thunders. 
 O'er my soul the storm-clouds brood. 
 
184 THE MOUNTAIN AND THE VALE. 
 
 But when tears, like rain, have fallen 
 From the fountain of my woe, 
 
 And my soul has lost its fierceness, 
 Straight unto the vale I go ; 
 
 Where the landscape, gently smiling. 
 O'er my heart pours healing balm, 
 
 And, as oil on troubled waters. 
 Brings from out its storm a calm. 
 
 Yes, I love both vale and mountain, 
 Ne'er from either would I part; 
 
 Each unto my life is needful, 
 Both are dear unto my heart. 
 
 For the smiling vale doth soften 
 All the rugged steep makes sad. 
 
 And from icy rocks meander 
 Rills that make the valley glad. 
 
LIB." 185 
 
 "LIB." 
 
 y^O THE regions of rest, where the bHssful abide, 
 
 f^ Rocked to sleep on the waves of eternity's tide, 
 Thou art gone in the bloom of thy beauty so rare, 
 And a bright star has dropt from life's firmament fair. 
 
 Dost thou dream of the sorrow bewailing thee here. 
 Of the once happy home, of the hearts sad and drear, 
 That were wont to brim over with gladness and glee? — 
 Though they ne'er knew delight if 'twere absent from 
 thee. 
 
 Art thou mindful of him, thy young life's only love. 
 Whose fond soul, sorrow-bowed, fain would seek thee 
 
 above, 
 Save 'twere duty to bide where stern destiny's thrall 
 Has enchained him a captive, awaiting God's call? 
 
 Will thy angel heart yearn for love's tender caress 
 From thy little ones, left in the world motherless? 
 Is memory immortal, or aught to thee now 
 The burdens 'neath which thy soul erstwhile did bow? 
 
1 86 / "LIB. 
 
 / 
 
 f 
 
 Soft as falls from the fountain of life the glad dew 
 O'er the sun-withered flower, till it blossom anew, 
 Was the voice that gave answer, so silent, so sweet, 
 Ne'er did music of earth the rapt senses so greet: — 
 
 Dost thou mourn, love, my absence? Behold I am here 
 At thy side, though unseen, and shall ever be near. 
 Deem me not with the dead; 'tis from death I am free; 
 And 'tis thou that art with them — my darlings and thee. 
 
 For am I not still thy companion and friend? 
 Or can death break the sealing that knoweth no end? 
 Where else should I be, love, than here at thy side ; 
 Ever near thee to cheer thee, whate'er may betide? 
 
 And our babes, though bereft of a mother's fond care 
 In the life I have left; shall they not claim a share 
 Of that love which alone may the ransomed e'er know, 
 As they lave in its waters, or bask in its glow? 
 
 Is memory immortal? Aye, ever and e'er; 
 All that life hath e'er known, or forgotten, is here 
 Plainly writ in the book of the soul, where we read 
 Of the heart's every hope, of the past's every deed. 
 
WAITING. 187 
 
 Ne'er grieves the glad spirit o'er pains that are past, 
 Nor sighs for earth's pleasures, too sinful to last; 
 For the summit is gained, and the mystery riven 
 Of the wisdom of God and the glory of heaven. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 iLT thou never break, O morning? 
 Shall we ne'er thy dawn behold, 
 Zion, in thy glory rising. 
 Might and majesty untold? 
 
 Vainly have we watched, awaiting, 
 Lord, thy promised time of power, 
 
 That should rend our chains asunder, 
 And o'erthrow oppression's tower? 
 
 Longer shall thy sons, Jehovah, 
 Lick the dust of Gentile feet? 
 
 Longer shall thy laws be trampled 
 As the stones of yonder street? 
 
1 88 WAITING. 
 
 Still shall tyranny triumphant 
 
 Strive thought's freedom to restrain? 
 
 Still shall truth be stamped as error? 
 Still, o'er right, injustice reign? 
 
 Shall the rich man hoard his millions, 
 While the poor man begs his crust? 
 
 Shall a god of gold be worshipped, 
 And in flesh shall Israel trust? 
 
 Shall such things be seen in Zion, 
 Sneered in Askelon and Gath? 
 
 Shall the alien's taunt shame Ephraim : — 
 "Christ's is not a crooked path?" 
 
 When shall rise a glorious Zion, 
 From all guile and grossness free? 
 
 God of Israel ! hast forsaken 
 Ephraim and his destiny? 
 
 Nay. Though lowering night may linger, 
 Lo ! the morning comes at last ; 
 
 Day of Zion's glad redemption — 
 All her woes forever past. 
 
WAITING. . 189 
 
 Freedom waves her joyous pinions 
 
 O'er a land, from sea to sea, 
 Bright with beams of heavenly glory, 
 
 Home of light and liberty ; 
 
 O'er a people happy, holy, 
 
 Gifted now with every grace ; 
 Free from self, that sordid fetter 
 
 That enslaves our fallen race. 
 
 Union, love and fellow-feeling — 
 
 These the watch-words of the hour ; 
 
 Rich and poor in all things equal — 
 Righteousness their rock and tower. 
 
 Mountain peaks of pride are leveled, 
 
 Lifted up the lowly plain, 
 Crookedness made straight, while c rudeness 
 
 Now gives way to culture's reign. 
 
 Now no tyrant's sceptre saddens, 
 Now no bigot's power can bind 
 
 Faith, forevermore unfettered, 
 
 Thought no dungeon e'er confined. 
 
190 WAITING. 
 
 Truth, oft crushed, yet never conquered, 
 Soars aloft on wings of light ; 
 
 Men behold their Maker's meaning 
 Eye to eye with single sight. 
 
 God, not mammon, hath the worship 
 Of his people, pure in heart — 
 
 This is Zion — O ye nations ! 
 
 Choose, ere past, her "better part." 
 
 Peace, not war, shall make you mighty; 
 
 Righteousness alone find rest ; 
 Turn, ah ! turn, while hopeful daylight 
 
 Lingers in your dying west. 
 
 Crowns and scepters, swords and bucklers- 
 Baubles ! — break them at her feet ; 
 
 Strife no more shall vex creation — 
 Christ's is now the kingly seat. 
 
 Cities, empires, kingdoms, powers. 
 Earthly, heavenly treasures. Thine ; 
 
 She that once was last of nations. 
 Henceforth as their head shall shine. 
 
WAITING. 191 
 
 Thus thy future glory, Zion, 
 
 GHttering in the Spirit's rays, 
 At the ocean's sun-Ht surging, 
 
 Rolls upon my raptured gaze. 
 
 Lovelier than painter's limning, 
 
 Fairer than a poet's dream. 
 Brighter than the noon-day splendor, 
 
 Or the midnight's starry beam. 
 
 All that ages past have promised. 
 All that noblest minds have prized, 
 
 All that holy lips have prayed for. 
 Here at last is realized. 
 
 Haste, oh ! haste, resplendent vision ! 
 
 Tarry not, but hither tend, 
 Where hope's pilgrims, worn and weary, 
 
 Still her toilsome heights ascend. 
 
 Oh may we who bide the dawning — 
 Though we climb a craggy way — 
 
 Greet the morn on glory's hill-tops. 
 When the night hath passed away ! 
 
192 ZION S FUTURE. 
 
 ZION'S FUTURE. 
 
 Extract from a Lecture on " Home Literature,'' delivered at the Y. M. M. L 
 A. Conference, Salt Lake City, Sunday, June 3rd, 1888. 
 
 ^^CTEEK ye out of the best books words of wis- 
 (^ dom ; seek learning even by study, and also by 
 faith." 
 
 Why did the Lord so instruct his Prophet? 
 Why did the Prophet so teach his people? It was 
 because God had designed, and his Prophet had 
 foreseen, a great and glorious future for that people. 
 Chosen himself in weakness, so far as this world's 
 wisdom was concerned, as a foundation stone of the 
 mighty structure which is destined to tower heaven- 
 ward, reflecting from its walls and glittering spires 
 the splendors of eternity, he knew there must come a 
 time, unless He who cannot lie had sworn falsely, 
 when Zion, no longer the foot, but as the head, the 
 glorious front of the world's civilization, would arise 
 and shine "the joy of the whole earth" — the seat of 
 learning, the source of wisdom, and the centre of 
 political power ; when side by side with pure Relig- 
 ion, would flourish Art and Science, her fair daugh- 
 
ZION S FUTURE. 1 93 
 
 ters ; when music, poetry, painting, sculpture, oratory 
 and the drama, rays of Hght from the same central 
 Sun, no longer refracted and discolored by the many- 
 hued prisms of man's sensuality, would throw their 
 white radiance full and direct upon the mirror-like 
 glory of her towers ; when the science of earth and 
 the wisdom of heaven would walk hand in hand inter- 
 preting each other; when philosophy would drink 
 from wells of living truth, no longer draining the 
 deadly hemlock of error, to poison the pure air with 
 the illusions of sophistry; when love and union 
 would prevail ; when war would sit at the feet of 
 peace and learn wisdom for a thousand years ; when 
 Zion's sons and Zion's daughters, as famed for intelli- 
 gence and culture as for purity, truth and beauty, 
 "polished after the similitude of a palace," would 
 entertain kings and nobles ; sit upon thrones 
 themselves ; or pfo forth, like shafts of lio-ht from the 
 bow of the Almighty, as messengers and ambassa- 
 dors to the nations. 
 
 Joseph saw all this ; he knew it was inevitable ; 
 
 that such things were but the natural flowers and 
 
 fruits of the work which God had planted. The roots 
 
 of the tree might not show it so well — their mission 
 
 13 
 
194 ZION S FUTURE. 
 
 is to lie hidden in the earth, despised and trampled 
 on of men — but the branches in a day to come would 
 prove it, Joseph knew, as every philosopher must 
 know, that purity is the natural parent of beauty ; 
 that truth is the well-spring of power, and righteous- 
 ness the sun of supremacy. He knew that his peo- 
 ple must progress, that their destiny demanded it ; 
 that culture is the duty of man, as intelligence is the 
 glory of God. Rough and rugged himself, as the 
 granite boulders of yonder hills, typical of the firm, 
 unyielding basis of God's work, he knew, and his 
 brethren around him knew, that on the rough, strong 
 stones of which they were symbolical — the massive 
 foundations of the past — the great Architect would 
 rear the superstructure of the future; that the youth 
 of Israel, their offspring, would be inspired to build 
 upon the foundations of the fathers, and yet would 
 differ from their fathers and mothers, as the founda- 
 tions of a building must differ from the walls and 
 spires. 
 
THE REDEMPTION OF ZION. 1 95 
 
 THE REDEMPTION OF ZION. 
 
 /t)rH, reader, the redemption of Zion is more than 
 the purchase or recovery of lands, the building 
 of cities, or even the founding of nations. It is the 
 conquest of the heart, the subjugation of the soul, 
 the purifying of the flesh, the sanctifying and enno- 
 bling of the passions. Greater is he who subdues 
 himself, who captures and maintains the citadel of his 
 own soul, than he who, misnamed conqueror, fills 
 the world with the roar of drums, the thunder of 
 cannon, the lightning of swords and bayonets, over- 
 turns and sets up kingdoms, lives and reigns a king, 
 yet wears to the grave the fetters of unbridled lust, 
 and dies the slave of sin. 
 
 In her children's hearts must Zion first be built 
 up and redeemed — "every man seeking the interest 
 of his neighbor, and doing all things with an eye 
 single to the glory of God." When the fig tree of 
 Israel's faith puts forth such leaves, know then that 
 the summer is nigh. 
 
196 CHRIST AND THE EARTH. 
 
 CHRIST AND THE EARTH. 
 
 AN ALLEGORY. 
 
 Vi^HE world lay wrapt In Death's embrace. The 
 'f tale of the Tempter had triumphed, and the 
 pinions of his power now fettered the fair limbs of 
 God's beauteous creation. Earth, a virgin, beguiled, 
 ensnared in sin, shrank shuddering from the touch of 
 her would-be violator and destroyer. 
 
 Hark ! a cry for help. The captive strives to 
 free herself from the fell clasp of the foe. Summon- 
 ing all her powers, she springs erect, and, grasping 
 her chain, essays to rend it asunder. It will not yield. 
 The links are firm, the staple strong. Madly she 
 tugs and toils. In vain, alas ! in vain. Baffled, bruised 
 and breathless, she sinks exhausted, and the arms 
 of the monster Sin once more enfold her. His hot 
 breath blisters her cheek, his cruel fingers clutch her 
 throat, his fierce eyes flame with passion. Again and 
 again she struggles, exerting all her strength to repel 
 the foul polluter. Alas ! his strength is stronger, his 
 
CHRIST AND THE EARTH. 1 97 
 
 grasp a grasp of iron : he holds her writhing form as 
 in a vise, gloating over her despair, exulting in her 
 misery, and laughing to scorn her fruitless efforts to 
 be free. 
 
 Vainly she weeps and pleads and prays. No 
 mercy melts that icy heart, no pity ,beams from out 
 that baleful eye. She is lost, she is lost! For who 
 can save her now? Oh, that a virgin should be 
 defiled ! Oh, that she should be dragged into deeper 
 depths of shame than those in which her wayward 
 will and youthful folly have plunged her! 
 
 II. 
 
 CRY for help was heard in heaven. The in- 
 cense of tears, the perfume of prayers came 
 up before the great White Throne, and the heart of 
 Him that sitteth thereon — the mighty heart of the 
 throbbing universe was touched with compassion. 
 
 "Go down, my Son, and rescue Earth; strike off 
 her fetters, vanquish her foes, and bring her back, 
 thy bride, to reign in glory. The decree of her ban- 
 ishment we revoke. She hath suffered double for all 
 her sins. Go, bring her hither, that we may place 
 upon her brow the seal of pardon, a diadem ot 
 power." So spake the Eternal Father. 
 
198 CHRIST AND THE EARTH. 
 
 Obedient to the royal mandate, the Son departed 
 from his Father's house. Yet went he not in glory, 
 with courtly train or blazing equipage ; nor as war- 
 rior girt for battle. No chariot he rode, no charger 
 mounted. No shinino^ armor encased him. Nor 
 sword, nor spear, nor shield he bore. For thus he 
 reasoned wisely: "My mission is of love, my errand 
 one of mercy. I go my bride to woo. She shall 
 love me for myself, and not for wealth or station." 
 
 Doffing his celestial crown, sparkling with jewels 
 of souls erst redeemed; laying aside his golden 
 scepter, and exchanging kingly robe for pilgrim gown, 
 the Prince of Peace bade heaven farewell, and soli- 
 tary and alone descended the stairway of the stars. 
 
 III. 
 
 /DT SOUND of falling shackles in the dungeons of 
 despair! The crash of bursting gates, the 
 roar of crumbling ramparts, the shout, the song of 
 joy, the trumpet-peal and thunder-march of victory. 
 Earth! thy hour is come. Deliverance is here. 
 Hell's battlements are shaking. Her walls go down. 
 The standard of Liberty floats triumphant above her 
 ruined strongholds! 
 
CHRIST AND THE EARTH. I99 
 
 But ah ! there looms another sight, A cross, a 
 crown of thorns, a mantle, blood-stained, torn and 
 trampled. What mean these emblems — these ghastly 
 signs of suffering? Was this thy greeting, Earth, for 
 Him, thy great Deliverer? For this came he to 
 woo thee, to rescue and redeem thee, to exalt thee 
 in glory above the stars of God? Is it thus a bride 
 doth meet her lord? 
 
 A voice from the depths gave answer: 
 
 "Not mine, not mine the blame. I knew thee, 
 Lord, and welcomed thee ; but Sin and Satan laid 
 thee low. In the hour of my deliverance thou wert 
 slain. Woe, woe is me, a widow — a widow ere a 
 bride! Where art thou gone, my Lover? My God, 
 my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" 
 
 Far througfh the nig^ht a solemn Voice fell echo- 
 ing: "I go to prepare a place for thee, that where 
 I am, there thou mayest be also. Fear not, O Earth ! 
 I have broken the bands which bound thee. Thy 
 foes no more shall ensnare thee. The midnight 
 hour is past. The morning breaks in glory. My 
 bride thou art and shalt be. For lo ! I come 
 again to claim thee!" 
 
200 CHRISTMAS EVE REFLECTIONS. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE REFLECTIONS. 
 
 ^iJ^HAT a God died for us is a glorious thought ; a 
 f^ subHme poem ; a picture all the more splendid for 
 the awful gloom of its tragic back-ground. That he is 
 coming to reign visibly over the earth ; to assume His 
 divine prerogative and royal right ; to reap the ripe 
 fruition of the great sacrifice sown in Time's meridian, 
 is an idea scarcely less awe-inspiring and illustrious. 
 As lamb then, meek and lowly ; as lion now, in 
 kingly majesty and warrior might. No poem reads 
 like that wondrous pilgrimage from Bethlehem to 
 Calvary. No masterpiece of the limner's art, no 
 gorgeous coloring of nature could hint the grandeur 
 and glory of that triumphal entry — the conquering 
 march of Christ as He cometh into His kingdom. 
 
 On the morrow all Christendom will blaze with 
 light and ring with joy and melody. Mirth and festiv- 
 ity will go hand in hand. Churches and cathedrals 
 will throng with eager worshippers, the solemn organ 
 will roll, bells peal, and choirs resound, and the pulpits 
 of many lands pour forth in tones of thunderous rap- 
 ture the praises of the crucified Nazarene, while in 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE REFLECTIONS. 20I 
 
 homes innumerable, in princely palace and in peasant 
 cot, millions on millions bow the reverent knee, con- 
 fessing him as Christ, as Savior, as King of kings. 
 
 'Tis well, for so it should be. Worthy, thrice 
 worthy is the Lamb. But oh, the chasm, the con- 
 trast, between the Then and Now ! But yesterday an 
 outcast, a wanderer, with not where to lay his head ; 
 to-day the honored guest of myriad homes. Once 
 smitten, cursed and spat upon ; now worshipped, wept 
 and glorified. A man of sorrows then, whom few 
 would follow ; a God of nations now, whom popes 
 and princes praise, and multitudes revere. A cross 
 — a crown ! So turns Time's wheel. So runs the 
 world away. 
 
 'Tis well to correct an error of our sires. 'Tis 
 better to commit no error of our own. Wise is it 
 to commemorate the past, but wiser still to honor and 
 improve the present. The glowing eulogies of Yes- 
 terday should not be written in the life-blood of To-day. 
 The tomb of a dead prophet may well be garnished, 
 but the dungeon of a living prophet should not 
 frown upon the sacred scene. 
 
 A strange perversity, that worships ever at the 
 shrine of the antique, and neglects or desecrates the 
 altars of modern thought ; attempting to warm its 
 
202 CHRISTMAS EVE REFLECTIONS. 
 
 withered hands over the dead ashes of bygone days, 
 while ignoring or striving to extinguish the new-Ht 
 fires of inspiration. So eager to revive the old ; so 
 loth to accept the new. The tendency of carnal 
 thought is ever backward. Even Jesus was deemed 
 by many a dead prophet risen again, rather than a 
 new messenger with a mightier mission and a more 
 glorious destiny than all His predecessors to fulfill. 
 
 Why, oh why look backward for salvation — deify- 
 ng the lifeless letter, crucifying the living oracle? 
 Why face the setting, in lieu of the rising sun? Why 
 sigh for the flesh-pots of Egypt ? Sweeter far are 
 the milk and honey of Canaan, The past with its 
 dead works cannot save. A living faith in the present 
 and future alone suffices for man's grreat need. 
 
 Believest thou the prophets of the past? They 
 bespeak the prophets of the present and future, 
 and the best wine of the feast is reserved till the 
 last. Each truth that appears is as a golden wedge 
 widening the gap for a greater truth to follow. Each 
 principle revealed testifies: "There cometh one after 
 me whose shoe-latchet I am not worthy to unloose." 
 
 Forward, not backward, be our motto ; the future, 
 not the past, our hope. Remember Lot's wife. Look 
 
LOUIE. 205 
 
 ahead ! The stars that h't the night are paling, A 
 greater orb is near. From your watch-towers scan 
 the East. Out of the West comes not the Morn. 
 
 LOUIE. 
 
 J LOVED her as a brother might love a sister — 
 *f for such indeed she seemed. I had known her 
 from childhood, and in our hearts there dwelt a mutual 
 sympathy. Though a gulf of years divided us, it 
 was spanned by an arch of congenial thought and 
 emotion. 
 
 Her soul was sensitive and refined. Fond of 
 music, poetry, painting, and talented withal, she be- 
 came their ardent devotee, and from the treasury 
 of her heart and mind, brought forth gems of melody 
 and beauty. Her voice in song was like the music 
 of murmuring waters, sinking or swelling in its deep 
 tenderness like the rise and fall of a gentle billow. 
 
 There are souls so sensitive, so finely organ- 
 ized, that to them an unkind word is equal to a blow ; 
 the prick of a pin almost equivalent to a dagger- 
 thrust. Such souls seldom linger long in mortality 
 
204 LOUIE. 
 
 — the tension is too great — though the delicate 
 strings, while they last, upon these human harps, oft 
 fill the world with immortal harmony. Save God 
 give added strength they cannot long endure the 
 rough sweep of the world's harsh hand ; tuneless and 
 shattered they perish, passing early to that spiritual 
 life, that higher sphere, for which they seem best fitted 
 and designed. 
 
 Sad indeed is it when a young life dies. The 
 passing of the aged is as the setting sun, the day's 
 heat and toil being over, and weary nature sighing 
 for repose; or as the falling of the tree which has 
 borne its last fruit, put forth its final blossom, and 
 whose withered, sapless trunk is already crumbling 
 to decay. But when a youthful spirit takes its flight, 
 it seems more like the sun's eclipse ere reaching the 
 zenith of its years ; or like the premature blighting 
 of the tree, just budding forth in strength and beauty. 
 
 Nevertheless we will believe she had fulfilled 
 her mortal mission ; that perchance, by reason of her 
 sensitive nature, her power and capacity to feel, she 
 was enabled to acquire, in a limited period, what many 
 linger long years to obtain. Time and experience 
 are not synonyms. 
 
JULIA. 205 
 
 "We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; 
 In feelings, not in figures on a dial." 
 
 Farewell, Louie ! That all is well with thee, 
 none will doubt who knew thee. May we meet before 
 the Father's throne, to renew in realms of rest and 
 happiness the tender ties that bound us together 
 here ; that linked in chain imperishable our immortal 
 souls ere Time's billow rolled upon the ocean of 
 Eternity, or ever our frail lives were launched forth 
 like bubbles that gleam and burst upon the bosom 
 of the wave! 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 /@)rS babe on mother breast, 
 
 ^"^ She softly sank to rest. 
 Tread lightly — do not wake her — let her sleep. 
 
 She has earned the sweet repose 
 
 The ransomed spirit knows. 
 Ne'er wake her — tho' her absence now we weep. 
 
 From shadows of our night, 
 She passed unto the light. 
 A star sets here in splendor there to rise. 
 
206 JULIA. 
 
 Though the path of pain she trod— 
 The footsteps of her God — 
 Her feet now press the hills of Paradise. 
 
 Would summon her again 
 
 To world of woe and pain, 
 Whose false and fleeting pleasures do but seem ? 
 
 Ah ! no ; we'd have thee stay 
 
 Where life is joy alway, 
 And sorrow but the memory of a dream ! 
 
 Adieu ! a kindlier soul, 
 
 A gentler heart, the goal 
 Of gladness and of glory ne'er did win. 
 
 From golden gates above, 
 
 Wilt thou not look in love, 
 And glance with pity ere thou goest in ? 
 
 O Thou at whose command. 
 
 Shall dust of every land. 
 And ocean deeps deliver up their dead ! 
 
 One word of comfort speak ! 
 
 Bid hope's bright morning break 
 In beams of blessing o'er the mourner's head ! 
 
THOUGHT S MARTYRDOM. 207 
 
 THOUGHT'S MARTYRDOM. 
 
 7|yHAT is it to be gifted? Sons 
 
 ^^ Of science, or of song ! 
 
 Ye whose brows are crowned with laurel, 
 
 Ye to whom the wings belong 
 Of fancy's eagle, upward soaring 
 
 Past the regions of the sun. 
 Or downward piercing thought's^ deep caverns, 
 
 Whither, erst, had ventured none. 
 
 Answer : — is it not to suffer 
 
 Pangs to lesser souls unknown ; 
 Pine 'mid earthly throngs, an exile. 
 
 Ne'er, as then, so much alone? 
 Is it not to feel more keenly 
 
 Censure's breathy or sorrow's dart ; — 
 To feed fame's fickle, flickering flambeau 
 
 With blood from passion's breaking heart? 
 
 Kindling high hope's radiant ideals 
 
 On life's dark and craggy coast. 
 The while, below, the real lies weltering 
 
 Amid the white waves, tempest-tossed. 
 
2o8 thought's martyrdom. 
 
 Torches that light the way to glory, J 
 
 Consuming swiftly as ye shine ; 
 As burned fell Nero's victims, dying 
 
 To illustrate a truth divine. 
 
 Such thy meed, and such thy mission, 
 
 Child of genius, choice of God ! 
 Through thee — a cloud by lightning riven, 
 
 The sunbeam e'er must seek the sod. 
 Prophet, poet, seer or savant ! 
 
 Thine to nobly do and die ; 
 Martyrs elect to man's promotion, 
 
 God's great name to glorify. 
 
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