| 128 Poetry.
Lines occasioned by the death of Elder George W. Gee, late of Ambrosia, Lee County, I. T. who died in the city of Pittsburg [Pittsburgh] , Penn. on the 20th of Jan. 1842.
By Miss E. R. Snow.
The Hero's Reward
Well may the fire of glory blaze If such the meed the warrior gains- Who goes opinion to unbind,
Upon the warrior's tread; If such the palm he bears- That reason may go free,
And nations twine the wreath of praise If such insignia he obtains- And liberate the human mind
Around the hero's head: If such the crown he wears: From cleric tyranny.
His path is honor, and his name If laurels thus his head entwine, To sever superstition's rod,
Is written on the spire of fame. And stars of triumph round him shine; And propagate the truth of God.
His deeds are deeds of courage, for How noble must be His reward Who wars with prejudice, to break
He treads o'er gory ground, Who, 'midst the crafts of men; Asunder error's chain,
Amid the pride and pomp of war Clad in the armor of the Lord And make the sandy pillars shake
When carnage sweeps around: Goes forth to battle, when Where human dogmas reign,
With sword unsheath'd, he stands before The powers of darkness warfare wage, Who dares to be a man of God,
The foe, amid the cannon's roar. And satan's host around him rage. And bear the Spirit's sword abroad!
Above all earthly, his shall be
An everlasting fame;
The archives of eternity
Will register his name
With gems of sacred honor rife-
His crowns will be eternal life.
The Morning-Glory.
For the Times and Seasons.
I saw the fairest flower, But Sol had hardly mounted An emblem of thy beauty,
That nature's fields adorn, His station at mid day, That soon must droop and die:
Spread forth in all it's splendor, Before this morning-glory As this pale wither'd flower,
Quite early in the morn. Began to fade away. Neglected you must lie!
'Tis called the morning-glory, It's leaves turned pale and quivering, Thus 'tis with human glory,
Thus little Mary said, It's feeble head hung down; How soon its day is o'er;
As gently she was causing It's glories all departed It spreads abroad its splendor,
It's tender vines to spread. And dropped on the ground. And then 'tis seen no more.
Such splendid tints of beauty, Alas! thou charming flower, "Ah! true, my dearest father,"
No Pencil could portray, Where are thy beauties fled? Young Mary quick replied.
As this sweet lovely flower In one short fleeting moment "But then to-morrow morning
Most richly did display. Sunk down among the dead! This vine will be suppli'd.
It's hues so rarely blended, Behold, young blooming Mary, With many a lovely flower,
And of the brightest dye; Thy flowers fade away! As sweet and bright as they;
It far surpass'd the iris Though rear'd with such attention, 'Tis called the morning-glory,
That hung across the sky. How soon their charms decay! That blossoms every day."
O, then rejoice dear Mary,
Though we must sink in pain,
There sure will come a morning
When we shall rise again:
And, clothed in living splendor,
That ne'er shall fade away;
Thou'lt be a morning glory
In that eternal day.
The Times and Season, is edited by John Taylor. Printed and published about the first and fifteenth of every month, on the corner of Water and Bain Streets, Nauvoo, Hancock county, Illinois, by John Taylor & Wilford Woodruff
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