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 the summit of a long hill, I saw about a dozen fierce looking men, armed with guns and bowie knives, advancing towards me. As we approached each other about half way down the hill, they eyed me very suspiciously--stopped, talked low and excitedly, but just at that moment one of my buggy wheels struck a stone, giving the vehicle a sudden jolt, upon which I turned towards them, and in an angry voice exclaimed, "Boys! Why in hell don't you repair this road!" "_He is one of us_," quickly remarked one of the group. "_He is all right, let him pass_." I had several hundred dollars about my person, most of which had been entrusted to me to be delivered to various parties; how far my uncouth and undignified expression went as security for their money, must be left to conjecture. CHAPTER XV.