The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old WestWilson, Harry Leon
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The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West
Wilson, Harry Leon
Historical fiction; Latter Day Saint pioneers -- Fiction; Western stories
“I’m glad to be called back to you, at any rate,—and yet, think of all
those poor benighted infidels who believe there are no longer
revelations nor prophecies nor gifts nor healings nor speaking with
tongues,—this miserable generation so blind in these last days when the
time of God’s wrath is at hand. Oh, I burn in my heart for them, night
after night, suffering for the tortures that must come upon them—thrice
direful because they have rejected the message of Moroni and trampled
upon the priesthood of high heaven, butchering the Saints of the Most
High, and hunting the prophets of God like Ahab of old.”
“Oh, dear, please stop it! You sound like swearing!” Her two hands were
closing her ears in a pretty pretense.
He seemed hardly to hear her, but went on excitedly:
“Yet I have done what man could do. I am never done doing. I would
gladly give my body to be burned a thousand times if it would avail to
save them into the Kingdom. I have preached the word
tirelessly—fanatically, they say—but only as it burned in my bones. I
have told them of visions, dreams, revelations, miracles, and all the
mercies of this last dispensation. And I have prayed and fasted. Just
now coming from winter quarters, when I could not preach, I held twelve
fasts and twelve vigils. You will say it has weakened me, but it has
weakened only the bonds that the flesh puts upon the spirit. Even so, I
fell short of my vision—my tabernacle of flesh must have been too much
profaned, though how I cannot dream—believe me, I have kept myself as
high and clean as I knew. Yet there was promise. For only last night at
the river bank, the spirit came partially upon me. I was taken with a
faintness, and I heard above my head a sound like the rustling of
silken robes, and the spirit of God hovered over me, so that I could
feel its radiance. All in good time, then, it shall dwell within me, so
that I may know a way to save the worthy.”
He grasped her wrist and bent eagerly forward, with the same wild look
in his eyes that had before disquieted her.
“Mark what I say now—I shall do great works for this generation; I am
strangely favoured of God; I have felt the spirit quicken wondrously
within me, and I know the Lord works not in vain; what great wonder of
grace I shall do, what miracle of salvation, I know not, but remember,
it shall be transcendent; tell it to no one, but I know in my inner
secret heart it shall be a greater work than man hath yet done.”
He stopped and drew himself up, shaking his head, as if to shrug off
the spell of his own feeling.
“Now, now! stop it at once, and come to the house. I’ve been tending
your father and mother, and I’m going to tend you. What you need
directly is food. Your look may be holy, but I prefer full cheeks. Not
another word until you have eaten every crumb I put before you.”
With an air of captor, daintily fierce, she led him toward the house
and up to the door, which she pushed open before him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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