Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow. Eliza R. Snow
energies to the promotion of the object in view.
I had a very interesting time—had many curious interviews, and experienced many singular circumstances, on this my first and last electioneering tour. To many persons who knew nothing of Joseph, but through the ludicrous reports in circulation, the movement seemed a species of insanity, while others, with no less astonishment, hailed it as a beacon of prosperity to our national destiny. In the midst of these extremes, my progress was suddenly brought to a close, by a well confirmed report of the massacre of the Prophet and his brother Hyrum.
When this terrible news reached me, I was near Cincinnati, to which place I immediately repaired, and found the Apostle, Amasa Lyman, who had just arrived from Nauvoo with intelligence of the martyrdom, and with counsel and instructions to the Saints and Elders.
The news of this sad event, of course, came wholly unexpected, and struck me with profound astonishment and grief, which no language can portray. As a partial expression of my thoughts and feelings, I quote the following lines, written by my sister:
THE ASSASSINATION OF GENERALS JOSEPH SMITH AND HYRUM SMITH,
FIRST PRESIDENTS OF THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS, WHO WERE MASSACRED BY A MOB, IN CARTHAGE, HANCOCK CO., ILL., ON THE 27TH OF JUNE, 1844.
And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held:
And they cried with a loud voice, saying, How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?
And white robes were given unto every one of them; and it was said unto them, that they should rest yet for a little season, until their fellow-servants also and their brethren, that should be killed as they were, should be fulfilled.—Rev., vi; 9, 10, 11.
Ye heavens, attend! Let all the earth give ear!
Let Gods and seraphs, men and angels hear:
The worlds on high—the universe shall know,
What awful scenes are acted here below!
Had Nature's self a heart, her heart would bleed
At the recital of so foul a deed;
For never, since the Son of God was slain,
Has blood so noble flowed from human vein,
As that which now on God for vengeance calls
From "Freedom's" ground—from Carthage prison walls.
Oh, Illinois! thy soil has drunk the blood
Of Prophets, martyred for the truth of God.
Once loved America! what can atone
For the pure blood of innocence thou'st sown?
Were all thy streams in teary torrents shed,
To mourn the fate of those illustrious dead,
How vain the tribute for the noblest worth,
That graced thy surface, O degraded earth!
Vile, wretched murderers, fierce for human blood,
You've slain the Prophets of the living God;
Who've borne oppression from their early youth,
To plant on earth, the principles of truth.
Shades of our patriot fathers! Can it be,
Beneath your blood-stained flag of liberty,
The firm supporters of our country's cause,
Are butchered while submissive to her laws?
Yes, blameless men, defamed by hellish lies,
Have thus been offered as a sacrifice,
T' appease the ragings of a brutish clan,
That has defied the laws of God and man!
'Twas not for crime or guilt of theirs, they fell:
Against the laws they never did rebel.
True to their country, yet her plighted faith
Has proved an instrument of cruel death.
Great men have fallen, mighty men have died—
Nations have mourned their fav'rites and their pride;
But, two so wise, so virtuous and so good,
Before on earth, at once, have never stood
Since the Creation—men whom God ordained,
To publish truth where error long had reigned;
Of whom the world itself unworthy proved;
It KNEW THEM NOT, but men with hatred moved,
And with infernal spirits have combined
Against the best—the noblest of mankind.
O, persecution! shall thy purple hand
Spread utter desolation through the land?
Shall Freedom's banner be no more unfurled?
Has peace, indeed, been taken from the world?
Thou God of Jacob, in this trying hour,
Help us to trust in Thy Almighty power—
Support the Saints beneath this awful stroke—
Make bare Thine arm to break oppression's yoke.
We mourn Thy Prophet, from whose lips have flowed
The words of life Thy Spirit has bestowed—
A depth of thought no human art could reach,
From time to time, flowed in sublimest speech,
From Thy celestial fountain, through his mind,
To purify and elevate mankind;
The rich intelligence by him brought forth,
Is like the sunbeam spreading o'er the earth.
Now Zion mourns—she mourns an earthly head;
Her Prophet and her Patriarch are dead;
The blackest deed that men and devils know,
Since Calv'ry's scene, has laid the brothers low.
One while in life, and one in death—they proved How strong their friendship—how they truly loved; True to their mission, until death they stood, Then sealed their testimony with their blood.
All hearts with sorrow bleed, and every eye
Is bathed in tears; each bosom heaves a sigh;
Heart broken widows' agonizing groans
Are mingled with the helpless orphans' moans.
Ye Saints! be still, and know that God is just—
With steadfast purpose in His promise trust;
Girded with sackcloth, own His mighty hand,
And wait His judgments on this guilty land.
The noble Martyrs now have gone to move
The cause of Zion in the courts above.
Nauvoo, July 1, 1844.
With saddened heart I then returned to the vicinity of Kirtland, from whence I started—arranged some matters of business and set my face homeward, traveling with horse and buggy; nothing of interest, worthy of notice, occurring, except, perhaps, I might mention a little incident which happened after passing through Carthage, the place of Joseph and Hyrum's martyrdom.
The spirit of destruction, mobocracy and murder was rampant, and our enemies in Carthage, and other towns and settlements in the vicinity of Nauvoo, were seeking every opportunity to wreak vengeance upon our people, especially when it could be accomplished without endangering themselves.
One morning, near the break of day, as I approached