Lines on the Death of Apostle Orson Pratt.

Apostle, prophet, sage,
Thine earthly toils are past.
Evangelist of this latter age,
‘Tis victory at last.

Bright was his eye and fair,
Bright in that trying hour;
The stamp of brilliant mind was there,
The mind of truth and power.

Pain had reduced his frame,
Wan, wasted, worn he lay;
Yet on his faded cheek there came
Joy’s brightest, purest ray.

Pain could not dim the shine
That filled his trustful eye.
Pain could not shake the faith divine,
That bore his soul on high.

In the sweet evening skies,
Say, does the sun decline?
Aye, but to other realms to rise
In splendor all divine.

So when a great man dies,
His glory does not fade,
But unto other realms to rise
Untarnished, undecayed.

‘Twas triumph over pain,
‘Twas victory over death;
Aye, such each faithful saint shall gain
When he resigns his breath.

It was not death to him,
No sadness touched his heart.
It thrilled all with strange joy to see
The victor thus depart.

And, O, when we shall pass
Death’s gate, God grant us then
That we may reach the same bright realm,
And see his face again.

J.H. Ward.
Salt Lake City, October 15, 1881.

[Deseret News, Nov. 9, 1881]

[transcribed and proofread by David Grow, Sept. 2006]

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