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
“Come softly, your mother may be still asleep—no, your father is
talking—listen!”
A querulous voice, rough with strong feeling, came from the inner room.
“Here, I tell you, is the prophecy of Joseph to prove it, away back in
1832: ‘Verily thus saith the Lord concerning the wars that will shortly
come to pass, beginning at the rebellion of South Carolina, which will
terminate in the death and misery of many souls. The days will come
that war will be poured out upon all nations, beginning at that place;
for behold, the Southern States shall be divided against the Northern
States, and the Southern States will call on other nations, even the
nation of Great Britain, as it is called.’ Now will you doubt again,
mother? For persecuting the Saints of the most high God, this republic
shall be dashed to pieces like a potter’s vessel. But we shall be safe.
The Lord will gather Israel home to the chambers of the mountains
against the day of wrath that is coming on the Gentile world. For all
flesh hath corrupted itself on the face of the earth, but the Saints
shall possess a purified land, upon which there shall be no curse when
the Lord cometh. Then shall the heavens open—”
He broke off, for the girl came leading in the son, who, as soon as he
saw the white-haired old man with his open book, sitting beside the
wasted woman on the bed, flew to them with a glad cry.
They embraced him and smoothed and patted him, tremulously, feebly,
with broken thanks for his safe return. The mother at last fell back
upon her pillow, her eyes shining with the joy of a great relief, while
the father was seized with a fit of coughing that cruelly racked his
gaunt frame and left him weak but smiling.
The girl had been placing food upon the table.
“Come, Joel,” she urged, “you must eat—we have all breakfasted, so you
must sit alone, but we shall watch you.”
She pushed him into the chair and filled his plate, in spite of his
protests.
“Not another word until you have eaten it all.”
“The very sight of it is enough. I am not hungry.”
But she coaxed and commanded, with her hands upon his shoulders, and he
let himself be persuaded to taste the bread and meat. After a few
mouthfuls, taken with obvious disrelish, she detected the awakening
fervour of a famished man, and knew she would have to urge no more.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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