Earlier this week I went over John Lyon's life and some of his work from "The harp of Zion." I felt that I have not shared enough of his poems and that Lyon's work deserved another look.
Eulogy
To Miss Eliza R Snow
Eliza Snow is the queen of the muse;
For the tones of her mystic Lyre
Would soothe the rage of the savage breast,
And the fainting heart inspire!
Well may the Saints rejoice, and sing
Her sweet numbers as they flow;
From east to west search this world around,
Who sings like our sister Snow?
Her strains of heavenly rapture sweet,
With valorous deeds engage;
When fired by wrongs and oppressive might,
She sings like a Grecian sage!
In Herculean strength, her verse is strung;
Her words, like a giant's blow.
Would kill the blackest venomed heart : —
None sing like our sister Snow!
A friend of man, and right is she,
And a foe to priestcraft's hu'e.
Her satire keen would pierce the heart;
Her pathos melts like fire.
Alike o'er desert, hill, and glen,
She makes all nature glow;
So varied are the thrilling tones
Of inspired sister Snow.
Long, long, may her harp in tune remain,
Touch'd by her goddess hand,
Till fame's loud trump proclaims — enough,
In Zion's favoured land.
When gems in her exalted crown.
Like stars shall spark'ling glow;
Where every tongue shall lisp the name
Of our dear sister Snow!
Euology,
To Orson Pratt,
One of the Twelve Apostles.
If truth in man be virtue's highest aim,
And gifted wisdom all that's worth a name;
If reasoning power, with intellect refined,
Be Heav'n's best boon to aid the human mind!
Say, who so highly honored by our God,
To point the way to bliss and lead the road.
By preaching, precept, practice, and the pen.
As Elder Pratt, among apostate men?
Where in the labyrinth of scholastic lore.
Could one be found so powerful to restore
Plain simple Truth from dreamy aerial things
More flighty than the Heavenly host with wings. And endless jangle 'bout unseen causality.
Than Pratt's expose of Immateriality?
And who of all the Theologic school.
Could write of Zion with prophetic rule,
Or pen God's Kingdom with precision clear.
Except the man who'd seen our martyred Seer? Whose claims, and titles, with superiority.
He's well maintained in his " Divine Authority; "
And given an outline of his heavenly " Visions/' Opposed to Satan and the world's derisions.
Or yet defend, like an inspired sage,
The Book of Mormon from the sacred page.
Such works demand our lasting gratitude,
And will be read by all the great and good,
Who long to see a kingdom raised on earth.
Where Truth and Virtue only will be worth.
Where man will learn to bless his fellow-man.
And do each other all the good they can.
Where mere nonentity and senseless clatter,
On dreamy themes and non-existent matter,
Will have no place; nor fictions story-telling,
In all the colleges of Zion's dwelling!
Ode to Morn
The night ! the night ! the dark, dull night,
Is gliding fast away;
Sweetly the breath of infant morn,
Wafts on its wings, fair day.
See ! see ! the rays with pressing might,
Now grey, now blue, now lost in white.
Far, far, o'er hill and sea are borne :
Glad life-inspiring light of morn !
The sun ! the sun ! in golden hues
Shame-faced peeps o'er the lawn.
As if he fain would say, " excuse
My long protracted dawn."
Hear ! hear ! from nature's varied throng.
The low, the bleat, the warbler's song;
Sea, mountain, sky, stream, oak, and thorn,
Salute, and welcome in the morn!
Listen ! listen! Does nature weep ?
Softly the dew-drops fall;
They're tears of joy, that night would keep
To deck her gloomy pall.
But morn I bright morn ! with glad'ning ray,
Gomes forth to wipe those tears away,
And cheer those drooping buds forlorn,
Fanned by the sunny breeze of morn!
The star! the star I the morning star,
Is lost in ether light,
And hope! bright hope! shines from afar
Through dreamy, cheerless night.
The hollow voice, the glist'ning eye.
Whisper thy welcome with a sigh,
While from the coach all weary worm.
Spring hopes effulgent as the morn!
Flap! flap! on downy pinions grey;
Hark I chanticleer has drawn
His shrill-toned notes to wake the day.
And usher in the dawn.
The warbling songsters' matin sound.
And busy hammers' clanking bound.
Proclaim, through labour weary-worm,
Refreshed with rest salutes the morn.
Forgiveness
When I against the Lord transgress;
And none but He can know my secret sin.
Then I'll repent and strive His love to win.
By doing all that I've forgot to do,
And more devoutly righteousness pursue;
Then shall I have forgiveness.
And should my folly cause distress
To father, mother, sister, brother, friend;
I'll run with speed, confess to each, and mend
The sinful breach by new obedience;
All loss restoring, through the vile offence;
Then shall I have forgiveness.
Should love demand that I confess.
For open sin a public sense of grief;
I'll humbly yield, if this should bring relief;
No matter what may be the penance, still
I'll strive the law of trespass to fulfil.
To gain from all, forgiveness.
Then shall my brethren love, and bless
The penitent with heartfelt joy again,
While the recording Angels sound the strain
Through brighter spheres — the sinner is forgiven
And mercy, radiant with the smile of Heaven,
Exults in God's forgiveness.
Mormon Triumph
To God we'll give the glory,
And to His prophet's cling,
Though sceptics scout the story.
We'll laugh, and merrily sing
Ha, ha!
Though fiends have killed our Prophet,
And scattered thrice the Saints,
And holy men still scoff it,
A " Mormon's " heart ne'er faints!
Ha, ha!
Priestcraft begins to tremble,
Where'er the Truth does spread;
While hypocrites dissemble.
We'll sing what they all dread!
Ha, ha!
Behold! how people gather!
God's Kingdom to upraise.
And spread the news still farther,
While tyrants on it gaze!
Ha, ha!
The meek will now inherit,
What vile men would retain;
But none shall greatness merit,
Who know not how to reign!
Ha, ha!
Their parents love their children.
And children all obey!
While Bab'lon's sons bewild'ring.
Shall go still more astray.
Ha, ha!
But we will preach them sermons,
And show them right from wrong.
For none know Truth but " Mormons,"
Although our word seems strong!
Ha, ha!
And if they will but hear us.
They'll find they've not been shamed;
And those who dare to sneer us
Will find themselves condemned.
Ha, ha!
I'm a Saint, I'm a Saint
I'm a Saint, I'm a Saint, on the rough worldwide,
The earth is my home, and my Grod is my guide!
Up, up with the Truth, let its power bend the knee:
I am sent, I am sent, and salvation is free.
I fear not old priestcraft; its dogmas can't awe:
I've a chart for to steer by that tells me the law, —
And ne'er as a coward to falsehood I'll kneel.
While Mormon tells Truth, or God's prophets reveal!
Up, up with the Truth, let its power touch the mind,
And I'll warrant we'll soon leave the selfish behind.
Up, up with the Truth, let its power bend the knee—
I am sent ! I am sent ! dying Bab'lon to thee,
I am sent 1 I am sent ! take this warning and flee.
The arm of the tyrant, fell terror may spread.
Yet, though they oppose us, their strongholds we'll tread.
What to us is the scorn of the selfish and vain?
We have borne it before, and we'll bear it again.
The fire -gleaming bolts of oppression may fall.
And kill off the body — death can't us appal!
With Heaven above us, and all Hell mad below,
Through the wide field of error, right onward we go.
Come on my brave comrades, now's the time you should speak:
The storm-fiend is roused from his long, dreamy sleep.
Our watchword for safety in Zion shall be,
I am sent! I am sent! dying Ba'lon to thee, —
I am sent! I am sent! take this warning and flee.
The Poets Farwell
Fareweel, my cattie, fareweel,
Fareweel, my countrymen a';
For there's dool, and there's wae,
To auld Scotia's land;
And her glory is faded awa ;
For the darkness of night,
O'er the homes of the brave,
Sets for ever without a rescue;
For the terror of night,
Gives the tyrant his right.
And her sons starve with nothing to do.
Oh hon! for fair Scotia, oh hon!
Oh hon! for her glory laid low.
On the land, on the sea,
Naught but wailing there be.
Proud Scotia, for ever, adieu.
Comments
Post a Comment