I also observed to the gentlemen that I had composed a song on the death of P.P.P. and if they would indulge me, it would be a mournful console to sing it. They said they would be glad to hear it and I sang as follows:

Come ye Saints and sing with me,
Of our dead own Parley,
How he fell and how he bled
How his precious blood was shed.


Oh! Parley dear we loved you well.
Yes more than mortal tongues can tell,
And we know you’ll come again
With us to live with Christ to reign.

In a land of crime and hate,
He has met the Martyr’s fate.
By the hands of one McLean
His blood was shed but not in vain.

Six pistol balls could not avail,
To make his holy visage pale,
But the fierce and deadly knife,
Pierced his heart and claimed his life.

Then from his horse his body fell,
Which did appease the child of hell,
And there he lay upon the ground,
With none to close and bind his wound.

When full an hour had passed away,
There came a man to where he lay.
Bring water quick, and raise my head,
For I will soon be with the dead!!

He then was asked who shed his blood,
Which then was flowing like a flood,
He answered that it was McLean,
Who pierced his heart and aft (?) its veins.

And there he lay, and bled and died,
Of every wife and child denied.
And not e’en one faithful friend.
By whom he could a message send!

Oh! God of Israel let the cry,
Of Parley’s blood came up on high,
And let his wounds before thee plead,
For wrath on him who did the deed.

[transcribed by David Grow, Aug. 2006, LDS Church Archives]

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