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]