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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