time in toil by hill and dell;There is a ripening harvest and our hooks shall find the fool
And in the distant nations we shall train them in our school."
I listened to his preaching and I learned all the role,
And the truth of Mormon doctrines burned deep within my soul.
I married sixteen women and I spread my new belief,
I was sent to preach the gospel to the pauper and the thief.
'Twas in the glorious days when Brigham was our only Lord and King,
And his wild cry of defiance from the Wasatch tops did ring,
'Twas when that bold Bill Hickman and that Porter Rockwell led,
And in the blood atonements the pits received the dead.
They took in Dr. Robertson and left him in his gore,
And the Aiken brothers sleep in peace on Nephi's distant shore.
We marched to Mountain Meadows and on that glorious field
With rifle and with hatchet we made man and woman yield.
'Twas there we were victorious with our legions fierce and brave.
We left the butchered victims on the ground without a grave.
We slew the load of emigrants on Sublet's lonely road
And plundered many a trader of his then most precious load.
Alas for all the powers that were in the by-gone time.
What we did as deeds of glory are condemned as bloody crime.
No more the blood atonements keep the doubting one in fear,
While the faithful were rewarded with a wedding once a year.
As the nation's chieftain president says our days of rule are o'er
And his marshals with their warrants are on watch at every door,
Old John he now goes skulking on the by-roads of our land,
Or unknown he keeps in hiding with the faithful of our band.
Old Brigham now is stretched beneath the cold and silent clay,
And the chieftains now are fallen that were mighty in their day;
Of the six and twenty women that I wedded long ago
There are two now left to cheer me in these awful hours of woe.
The rest are scattered where the Gentile's flag's unfurled
And two score of my daughters are now numbered with the world.
Oh, my poor old bones are aching and my head is turning gray;
Oh, the scenes were black and awful that I've witnessed in my day.
Let my spirit seek the mansion where old Brigham's gone to dwell,
For there's no place for Mormons but the lowest pits of hell.
DAN TAYLOR
Dan Taylor is a rollicking cuss,
A frisky son of a gun,
He loves to court the maidens
And he savies how it's done.
He used to be a cowboy
And they say he wasn't slow,
He could ride the bucking bronco
And swing the long lasso.
He could catch a maverick by the head
Or heel him on the fly,
He could pick up his front ones
Whenever he chose to try.
He used to ride most anything;
Now he seldom will.
He says they cut some caper in the air
Of which he's got his fill.
He is done and quit the business,
Settled down to quiet life,
And he's hunting for some maiden
Who will be his little wife—
One who will wash and patch his britches
And feed the setting hen,
Milk old Blue and Brindy,
And tend to baby Ben.
Then he'll build a cozy cottage
And furnish it complete,
He'll decorate the walls inside
With pictures new and sweet.
He will leave off riding broncos
And be a different man;
He will do his best to please his wife
In every way he can.
Then together in double harness
They will trot along down the line,
Until death shall call them over
To a bright and sunny clime.
May your joys be then completed
And your sorrows have amend,
Is the fondest wish of the writer—
Your true and faithful friend.
WHEN WORK IS DONE THIS FALL
A group of jolly cowboys, discussing plans at ease,
Says one, "I'll tell you something, boys, if you will listen, please.
I am an old cow-puncher and here I'm dressed in rags,
And I used to be a tough one and take on great big jags.
"But I've got a home, boys, a good one, you all know,
Although I have not seen it since long, long ago.
I'm going back to Dixie once more to see them all;
Yes, I'm going to see my mother when the work's all done this fall.
"After the round-ups are over and after the shipping is done,
