Wait a Minute: A Poem

710 IMPROVEMENT ERA. originally written in hieroglyphics of an Egyptian order, appears to be well on the way towards a scientific demonstration of its truth. That Egyptologists are able to read, as they do, some of the American hieroglyphics shows that they are of Egyptian origin. That they can not decipher correctly more of them than they now do, tends to substantiate Moroni's statement that the ancient American hieroglyphics are altered or reformed Egyptian. Scientific developments along these lines are just right to strengthen the "Mormon" position. Snowflake, Arizona. (to BE CONCLUDED.) Wait a Minute. (For the Improvement Era.) Wait a minute, young man, which way are you going? Down street to the den where red wine is flowing? To meet with your friends (?) for only an hour? Perhaps play a game for renewal of pow'r? Lift up your head, let me look in your eyes— Those eyes once so tender, candid and wise, AVhose clear, sparkling glow was a glory to you, In whose depths I read now a desire to be true. There is danger'ahead! I pray you don't go! This elf you call pleasure to a monster will grow. Now is the time, while your will is yet strong, To stifle this demon, to conquer this wrong. "Only this once?" Would you forge one more link In the chain which is dragging you over the brink? Many a stout man has gone down to his death, With "Only this once!" on his hot, trembling breath.

• WAIT A MINUTE. 711 Shall I plead for the one who kissed your soft hau-, As she tucked you in bed, oft breathing the prayer,— "0 God, guard my darling from the vice of the day, Help me to keep him in thy service alway!" Shall I plead for your sister, whose beautiful face May be stained with the tears of grief and disgrace? Or plead for your sweetheart, who smothers her fears With showers of roses you're to bring through the years? No; I plead not for these, though their hearts be bowed low, With thousands of others, whose lives overflow With sorrow so bitter that death would be sweet, Could it straighten the way of the staggering feet— I plead for your manhood, a thing so divine That the mem'ry thereof through ages may shine To 'lumine the path where myriads will tread— A star guiding upward to the goal overhead. I plead for the race—that call for the brave Who will dare to do right, though devils may rave; Who will keep themselves clean, without and within; Though they struggle alone, will fight against sin. I plead for your soul, 0 immortal man, What you will you may be, is the fiat and the plan; With your God-given key you may mount to the skies, And explore the deep vast where eternity lies. All things are before you, no problem too great, No righteous ambition you may not consummate; Eternal progression in the kingdom of God Is yours for the winning, blind child of the sod! Your eyes brim with tears! I've not pleaded in vain; Let me clasp your warm hands again and again! With your heart firmly fixed, the battle is won, And earth is enriched with one more goodly son. Ruth M. Fox.