Death of Pres. Brigham Young|
Emily D P Young
Low in the earth our cheiftain is laid
His hands are palsied and still
His pulse does not throb, his voice is not heard
His head and his heart are so cold.
Calmly he sleeps in his clean roomy bed
Pure and white is his grave
And strong is the stone that is placed ore his head
To mark his last place of repose.
Sweet may he sleep, disturb not his rest,
For weary! so weary! was he,
Long persecuted, but valiant in truth,
He rests, so calmly, and peaceful, he rests
Do not disturb him I pray
For in a day not far distant, he,
Will rouse himself up
As a lion coming forth from his lair
With strength that is mighty
And love that is pure
To carry out plans in a more perfect way.
Speak not a word to dishonor his name
Lisp not a sound but in praise
Close up the mouth that would sully his fame
Or tarnish his honor in death.
Low in the dust he has bowed his head
His spirit has soared away
He has gone where the wicked will trouble no more;
The noble, the brave, and the true.
Salt Lake City