John Lyon, "The Harp of Zion"

There have been many great poets in LDS history, and John Lyon deserves to be numbered as one of them. Born in Glasgow Scotland, Lyon became a weaver's apprentice at the age of seventeen. He got married in February of 1826 and had his first child that September. He had twelve children total, with seven living to adulthood. 

In 1837, John Lyon and his family met some missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and a few years later in 1844, after reading the book of Mormon and attending some religious sermons, was baptized into the church and ordained an Elder. In 1849, he received a letter from Orson Pratt, calling him to become to serve as a missionary and President of the Worcester area in England, serving from 1849 to 1851. The next year he was called to move Utah to gather with the Saints, finally making his way to Salt Lake City in 1854. That same year he was ordained to the seventy. He also joined the Deseret Dramatic Association and the Universal Scientific Society, society made to help create a library in Salt Lake City and worked on the Deseret News. In March of 1855 he was made the superintendent of the newly constructed endowment house, a position he served for thirty years, and was called to me a missionary in the Utah Territory later that same year in October. You would think his life would be slowing down, after all he was over fifty, but you would be wrong. 

On January 16, 1860, after the Utah war, he was called to be the territorial librarian, yet another job on top of his previous assignments. Within this position he was somewhat of a spokesman for the church, making the church members look educated and smart. He way paid around $400 a year, equivalent to over $15,000 today. Despite, all these jobs, Lyon took it all in stride. Over the course of these years, he was married to twelve women, was ordained as a patriarch, continued to work for Deseret News continued to work in the field of drama, even teaching Maude Adams in the way of formal theatrics, (at least according to one interview by Edgar T. Lyon). Finally, on November 28, 1889, John Lyon passed away at the age of Eighty-eight years old. 

Lyon's life was certainly busy, between the quorum seventy meetings, the drama productions, and running the territorial library and territorial endowment house. But he still found time to write his poems, arguably what he is most famous for today. He started writing his poems before even moving to Salt Lake, publishing The Harp of Zion before leaving for Utah. He included many of his poems in the Deseret News as he worked for them, and wrote many about polygamy, politics and church leaders. A collection of his known as the Songs of a Pioneer. Below are just a sampling of his work, all taken from the Harp of Zion.

Preface

In ushering the following effusions into the world, and in bringing them before the Saints especially, the Author has no apology to make for so doing, more than to say that, as some of his productions have appeared in the Millennial Star, and other periodicals, and have been received with general approbation, he thought, if collected together, with others unpublished, they might form a little remembrancer of past events connected with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints ; and of many of the brethren whose friendship and memory he would wish to perpetuate; and at the same time preserve in a combined form a portion of his productions for the use of the Saints generally.

As to the merit or demerit of the work, he leaves that entirely to the sense and judgment of the reader; if he has furnished anything for his pastime, profit, or pleasure, he has accomplished all he had in view; and if a good thought is engendered, or a noble aspiration drawn forth by reading its pages, it will more than repay all his trouble of composition.

As a token of an earnest desire for the Gathering of the Saints, he bequeathes the Copyright of the work to the Perpetual Emigrating Fund.

With these few observations, he submits his little work, with all its imperfections, to the Church throughout the universal world, anxiously desiring that they will patronize it for the fulfilment of the Lord's word, and their own emancipation, which is the sincere prayer of their friend and brother.

The Author.

Thoughts on Visiting the Home of My Fathers

My dear native shades, when you rise in my view, 

All the scenes of my youth spring afresh to my mind.

Time and nature have altered your aspect, 'tis true. 

Yet still, the resemblance I can see in you, 

Of these haunts dear to mem'ry, my youth left behind.

How oft have I wandered o'er yon distant hill,

With faithful old Tweed by my side ;

If I pointed the place where the ewes strayed at will,

His sagacity led the command to fullfill, 

And fawning, came back to me plaid.

The pretences of friendship in man I have found

To preponderate still to the rogue ;

But such true love and friendship, and feeling so kind,

In connection with mortals, I seldom can find

So much love as I've found in my dog!

The well-known old bushes, where I used to play, 

That stood near the end of the vale.

 Are now by the water-course washed away, 

And the mansion itself, fallen into decay. 

And the dove-house nods low to the gale.

The clack of the mill, and the tick of the clock, 

The birr of the wheel, and the cry of the deer.

 And the sugh of the water-fall over the rock. 

Are sounds that fond mem'ry can never unlock:

These youthful sounds never can die in my ear!

The lovely young features and smirking black eye. 

Of her I first lov'd, are no more to be seen.

 Yes, ye tall spreading oaks, ye alone heard the sigh

 That innocence gave, though I knew not then why:

 But now they are gone as though never they 'd been.

Yes, these youthful moments, alas! they are fled;

And my grandson and father are gone;

My mother and sisters are laid with the dead,

And there is not a stone for to mark out their head;

Like myself, they're uncared for, unknown.

But yon red setting Sun gives a warning, 

I know That darkness approaches at each parting ray; 

Then farewell forever, far from you I go, — 

But my heart it shall ever be nigh unto you. 

Till the day of my pilgrimage passes away!

Exodus

Ye sons of Israel arise,

Nor round your city dally, 

An echoing voice prophetic cries,

" Go seek some lonely valley," 

In ambuscade the foemen lie, 

Watching you with a tiger's eye:

 Up, and away to your mountain home, 

Where wild beasts prowl, and red men roam:

There round your standard rally.

Oh! linger not, though lov'd ones plead,

And fondly wish you'd tarry, 

Proscrib'd, yet bless'd, why should you dread

The blood-stain'd emissary. 

Your Temple's spire still points to Heaven, 

Whence Grod reviews the outcasts driven, 

And angels guard the hallow'd ground — 

Till, once with glorious triumph crowned,

You Zion back shall carry.

Shall scornful Gentiles' ruthless ire

The work of God fulfilling, 

E'er quench the rapturous desire,

That's in your bosom thrilling!

 Be still, and know the voice of God, 

The coming bliss, the fearful rod:

 There hide ye till the scourging blast 

" Of judgment set, and thrones o'ercast;"

There wait for God's revealing.

Go where ne'er a white man trod;

Unveil each Indian nation; 

Unfold the stick of Ephrain's God,

The cov'nant of Salvation! 

Then, the despised and trodden down 

Shall rise to glory and renown;

 And nations in earth's midst shall flow

 To Zion, and a kingdom grow,

To swell the restoration.

Anthem 

This song of praise was composed in commemoration of the Exodus of the Latter-Day Saints from Nauvoo, in 1846, when many of them had no provision, nor shelter from the inclemency of the season. The Lord then sent them flocks of land-fowl, whereby His power was made miraculously manifest in the salvation of His people.

Dedicated to Elder Robert Campbell, 

Who was amongst the dispersed, and who lost his wife on that occasion.

Sound the sweet Anthem o'er mountain and plain, Jehovah hath rescued His people again,

His people again, His people again.

Shout, ye dispersed, o'er the plains of Missouri,

The Lord is your helper, though madmen may rave, 

And hunt you afar from your homes, in their fury, 

To herd with the wild beasts, " till want finds your grave." 

Praise to Jehovah, the tyrant and sword 

Have spent all their ire on the Saints of the Lord,

The Saints of the Lord, the Saints of the Lord.

Aloft from the Heavens the cry of their wailing

Brought land-fowls in flocks to the place of their rest.

Where the hungry and fainting had food without failing. 

In plentiful stores, by Jehovah's behest. Praise to Jehovah, &c., &c.

Loud rose the hymn of the Saints sweetly sounding!

Their enemies heard it, in wrathful amaze,

 Yet the Heavenly boon unto them was astounding ;

They knew not His power, for they loved not His ways. 

Praise to Jehovah, &c., &c.

Though far in the mist of the mountain and prairie,

Be hushed the glad news of the happier home. 

Yet the day-star of Truth, from the mountains of glory. 

Will tell of a kingdom no power shall o'ercome.

Sound the sweet Anthem o'er mountain and plain ; 

Jehovah hath rescued His people again,

His people again. His people again.

Millennial Hymn

Hail ! bright millennial day of rest,

When earth 's restored and Saints are blest,

Secured from Babylon's doom;

 Gathered afar from every clime, 

To spend that blissful, happy time.

Where vernal pastures bloom;

Where tyranny no more shall reign. 

Nor famished children beg in vain

For what their fathers toiled; 

Nor proud men spurn the poor man's lot; 

Alike they'll share, nor envy not

What former av'rice spoiled.

There Equity and Truth will shine, 

And all revere God's laws divine,

Nor fear oppressors' wrong;

 Each shall possess their dwellings fair, 

And eat the fruits their vineyards bear.

Rejoicing all day long.

0, Heavenly paradise of joy,

 Where meek ones live without annoy.

For more poems from Lyon, check out

The harp of Zion, a collection of poems : John Lyon : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive