'Twas night; the floods were out; it blew A winter-hurricane aloof; I heard his voice abroad, and flew To bid him welcome to my roof. I warmed and clothed and cheered my guest; I laid him on my couch to rest; Then made the earth my bed, and seemed In Eden's garden while I dreamed. Stripped, wounded, beaten nigh to death, I found him by the highway side; I roused his pulse, brought back his breath, Revived his spirit and supplied Wine, oil, refreshment--he was healed; I had myself a wound concealed; But from that hour forgot the smart, And peace bound up my broken heart. In prison I saw him next,--condemned To meet a traitor's doom at morn; The tide of lying tongues I stemmed, And honored him 'mid shame and scorn. My friendship's utmost zeal to try, He asked if I for him would die; The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, But the free spirit cried, "I will." Then in a moment to my view, The stranger darted from disguise; The tokens in his hands I knew; The Savior stood before mine eyes. He spake, and my poor name he named-- "Of me thou hast not been ashamed; These deeds shall my memorial be; Fear not, thou didst them unto me." Shortly Hyrum asked him to sing the song again, to which he replied: "Brother Hyrum, I do not feel like singing." "Oh, never mind; commence singing and you will get the spirit of it." Soon after finishing the song the second time, as he was sitting at one of the front windows of the jail, he saw a number of men, with painted faces, rushing round the corner towards the stairs. The brethren must have seen this mob simultaneously, for as Elder Taylor started for the door to secure it, he found Hyrum Smith and Doctor Richards leaning against it to prevent its being opened, as the lock and latch were of little use. The mob reaching the landing in front of the door, and thinking it was locked, fired a shot through the key hole. Hyrum and Doctor Richards sprang back, when instantly another ball crashed through the panel of the door and struck Hyrum in the face; at the same instant a ball from the window facing the public square where the main body of the Carthage Greys was stationed, entered his back, and he fell exclaiming, "I am a dead man!" With an expression of deep sympathy in his face, Joseph bent over the prostrate body of the murdered man and exclaimed, "Oh! my poor, dear brother Hyrum!" Then instantly rising to his feet he drew the pistol Cyrus Wheelock had left, and with a quick, firm step, and a determined expression in his face he advanced to the door and snapped the pistol six successive times; only three of the loads, however, were discharged. [1]