The next day I was up at four o'clock. Brother Gill was sick and the family were fearful that he would not be able to travel. I packed his things, called the family and visitors into prayers, asked God to heal Brother Gill, which He did, loaded his things on the cart, and seated Brother Gill and his wife on the top of the load. The Elders and a large company of friends followed on foot, three miles to the station, where we met other families--Jenkin Thomas, Albert Jones, John D. Evans, and others. Some of the Saints were short of money to pay freight on their luggage. I talked with the agent, and his heart was softened, so that the small sum that I gave him made up the deficiency. I parted with Elder Thomas F. Howells and Brother Hughes, and took train with the Saints as far as Pontypool. Here I bade them and Elder Walter J. Lewis goodbye, wishing them a safe journey to Utah. While waiting on the platform for a downward train, I wrote: PARTING WITH THE SAINTS. I see pale faces looking out of cars, I hear the whistle shriek--the start and jar, And the train, with its load of human freight Fades from my sight, but still I wait. Stand and look to the dim, dark, west, With an aching head, and a throbbing breast, Till a streak of smoke, like a thread in the sky, Marks the path where the loved ones fly-- Flying by steam, with the speed of a dove, To the Zion of God--the land that I love; O beautiful scene, sweet vision of light, To follow the Saints in their gathering flight. The beautiful parks and fields are passed, With the ripening grain, and waving grass-- The hill's green-sward, and the forest grove, The singing birds, and bleating droves; A thousand scenes so dear to the eye, Appear like a dream as we pass them by. We will not speak of the "mocking throng," The tained oath and bacchanal song, The crying for bread, the tattered clothes-- All these we leave with Babylon's woes. But we'll speak of the songs that ring in my ear-- "O Zion, dear Zion" and "Cheer, Saints, Cheer"-- "There is a land in Utah that I remember well, And there the Saints in joy and peace, and plenty ever dwell," O may it prove a chosen land, to the dear ones going there-- And to this weary care-worn band, be ever bright and fair!