Poetry

For the Times and Seasons.

TUNE-INDIAN STUDENT'S LAMENT.

O give me back my Prophet dear, It is because they strove to gain,

And Patriarch, O give them back; Beyond the grave a heaven of bliss;

The Saints of latter days to cheer, Because they made the gospel plain,

And lead them in the gospel track. And led the Saints in righteousness.

But ah! they're gone from my embrace, It is because God called them forth,

From earthly scenes their spirits fled; And led them by his own right hand

Those two, the best of Adam's race, Christ's coming to proclaim on earth,

Now lie entombed among the dead. And gather Israel to their land.

Ye men of wisdom tell me why, It is because the priests of Baal

When guilt nor crime in them were found, Were desperate their craft to save;

Why now their blood doth loudly cry, And when they saw it doomed to fail,

From prison walls, and Carthage ground They sent the Prophets to the grave.

Your tongues are mute, but pray attend, Like scenes the ancient Prophets saw,

The secret I will now relate, Like these, the ancient Prophets fell;

Why those whom God to earth did lend, And till the resurrection dawn,

Have met the suffering martyr's fate. Prophet and Patriarch-Fare thee well.