9 January 1855
Polysophical Society; Lorenzo Snow’s Hall, Salt Lake City, Utah Territory
My Brothers & Sisters, I’m happy to be
Where the atmosphere’s pure—where the spirit is free—
Where clear rays from the light of eternity shine
Where reflections from Intellect’s deep, golden mine
Illumine each eye—in each countenance glow—
Where pure currents of thought, unobstructedly flow—
Where sweet singers and players, rich off’rings impart
To form telegraph lines, from the head to the heart.
Hosanna to God: Let His praises
Till the world, to His honor, with shouts will resound—
Till with works more expressive than language can speak
All that hope for salvation, His glory will seek.
With pure hearts and clean hands, we can never do wrong,
And we’ll praise Him in music, in dance and in song:
In whatever we do, either pastime or toil,
For the welfare of Zion, we aim all the while:
’Tis our theme—our ambition, our wealth and our home—
Our bright center of hopes for the glories to come.
Like rich clusters of grapes on a desolate plain, [n.p.]
Or cool streams in the desart, is what we obtain
From the presence of God, when His spirit unbinds,
And with holy aspirings, gives scope to our minds.
And our minds must expand, and our hearts be enlarg’d,
Or, with “line upon line” they will be over-charg’d.
Small vessels, when fill’d, can but little contain—
All that each can receive, we are sure to obtain.
But the eye hath not seen, and the ear hath not heard,
Nor hath enter’d the heart, what the Lord has prepar’d
In the heav’ns, for the saints who their faithfulness prove—
And obeying His precepts, exhibit their love.
But sweet foretastes flow down, like refreshings of dew,
On our pilgrimage here, to encourage us through.
Lo! the pow’rs of the earth, are beginning to shake
And the great day of vengeance is ready to break—
A slaughter-field, Babylon, soon will become,
For the gentiles are urging their own fearful doom:
And the sinners in Zion, will meet their reward,
For the judgments begin at the House of the Lord.
Revolution’s wide trumpet is sounding its blast—
Change is treading on change, and Time’s chariot rolls fast.
The earth’s tide of creation has ebb’d itself low—
There will be no more ebbing—henceforward 't will flow,
Restitution’s tall Era has fully commenc’d,
And the truths of salvation are widely dispens’d—
The grand gathering of Israel, proclaim’d far and near,
And a few from all nations have gather’d up here—
O, how blest are the saints who’re permitted to come
To these valleys of peace—to this mountainous home;
Where the finger of God, thro’ the Priesthood, directs
And His all-seeing eye, thro’ His servants, protects, [n.p.]
Truth will spread forth its conquests till th’ nations abroad
Will bow and acknowledge the kingdom of God.
In eternal progression, we fully believe,
Yet we all have to labor for what we receive:
With no service perform’d, no reward is obtain’d—
Where no warfares are wag’d, are no victories gain’d.
We must work, and continue our work all the day—
If we tire out at noon, we shall forfeit the pay.
If perchance we should wear out, we take the next room,
And with more refin’d matter, our labors resume,
Under superintendance of those who preside
In the bright spirit land, o’er the saints that have died.
Father Adam, our God,1 let all Israel extol,
And Jesus our Brother, who died for us all:
All praise is imperfect that we can bestow—
Our voices are weak, and our language <too>
But when Zion that dwells on a planet in light,
With the Zion perfected on earth, shall unite,
Rich, sweet, highsounding anthems, all heav’n, will inspire,
As the pure language flows from the lips of the choir.
[. . .] [n.p.]