Come, Come Away.

By P.P. Pratt.

O come, come away,
From northern blasts retiring,
These wintry times to milder climes,
O come, come away;

Where Gentile foot has never been,
The clear, blue sky is ever seen,
And spring is ever green,
O come, come away.

O come, come away,
Where hope is still inspiring,
Where flow’rets bloom, in rich perfume,
O come, come away;

There, ‘mid the mountains’ tow’ring dome,
The Colorado’s waters foam,
And freedom finds a home,
O come, come away.

O come from the realms
Where tyrants still are reigning,
From poverty, and cholera,
And war, come away;

Imperial Zion! rise in might;
Increase they towers; extend thy light;
And reign—it is thy right—
At home and away.

O come, come away,
The mountains still exploring;
Turn ev’ry crook; search ev’ry nook;
O come, come away;

The secret treasures of the bills,
The rivers, lakes, and murm’ring rills,
Are ours, boys, by heaven’s will;
So come, come away.

And when from these toils
We’re merrily returning,
Warm hearts shall meet, each other greet,
O come, come away.

Come, come, our social joys renew,
Where wives and children welcome you,
And sweethearts, warm and true,
O come, come away.

[Deseret News, Mar. 6, 1852]

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

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