--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Frost, Grace Ingles collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 15 number: 7 published: 1912-05 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Grace Ingles Frost, "Rescued: A Poem," *Improvement Era* 15, no. 7 (May 1912): 608.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1507unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1507unse start_page: 608 end_page: 608 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1912-05) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1507unse publication_year: 1912 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1912, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Rescued: A Poem 608 IMPROVEMENT ERA up-shooting current catches it as a parachute, snaps the handle off at half its length and, leaving him the crook in his hand, takes the remainder in its powerful grasp, carries it out a short distance, and, as it closes up, down, down it goes like an arrow to a place unseen by startled eyes. It is an appropriate reminder to sacrifice to such a conqueror, and we draw away, and are soon placing to our rear the thing we have come one hundred miles, mostly in a canoe, to view, and found it so far to. exceed all our prc-conceived expectations as to defy appropriate description. RIVERSIDE, UTAH Rescued. (For the Improvement Era) From 'ncath trampling feet and the dust of the street, I rescued a delicate rose; That once purest white hath suffered a blight Its bruised, crumpled petals disclose. Ah, poor little rose! The Father best knows What caused it to fall by the way; Mayhap, it was lost, and the losing hath cost A deep-felt regret for the day. Pensive I gaze, and the drooping head raise: I wonder if some ruthless hand Such beauty hath known and then lightly thrown Away to receive the street's brand? The depths of my heart with sad mem'ries start Of one who, once pure as this flow'r, Was cruelly thrown on the world all alone, The caprice of man for an hour. Tho' saved from the feet treading Merciless Street, She yet bore opprobrium's brand; While he of the same went fre from the blame. Again to clasp Virtue's pure hand. O God of the flower and of woman's dower, So strong in your knowledge of right, Ah, pity the stain, the bruises, the pain, And save from the withering blight! Grace Ingles Frost. WATERLOO, UTAH