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Show We are indebted to the author Orson P. Whitney for a copy of a neat little pamphlet issued from the News office, containing two poems; "The Women of the Everlasting Covenant" and "The Land of Shinehah." They are worthy productions of the youthful and talented author, and should be read by all the Saints, and by all lovers of poetry. The first is one of the most glorious tributes ever paid to noble womanhood, and is very appropriately dedicated to the author's mother and to all true mothers in Israel. Inspiration breathes through every verse, but the closing stanza is peculiarly sublime. My mother! On thy pale and care-lined brow, O'erhung with sorrow's wreath of silver snow, Outvying fabled Splendor's fairest gem, Shall shine; in heaven's light a diadem. Thy tear dimmed eye shall be forever bright, Thy form renewed and robed in living light, Where souls redeemed, immortal glories share, And God is near, and Love is everywhere. "The Land of Shinehah," has previously been spoken of in these columns, and many of our readers have probably perused it with pleasure. We quote from two stanzas; Enthroned upon the verdure-covered hills, Kissed by the dews that feed her gushing rills, Wooed by the waves far on Erie's strand, Is Shinehah - the fair and favored land. The cradle of a nation thou hast been! The rise of Zion's glory thou hast seen! A Pentecost, a Prophet to thee sent, And later still a people's banishment. Fair Shinehah! Thy land so desolate - A wounded bird deserted by its mate, The plumage from its bleeding body torn, A picture is of loneliness forlorn. The temple, once the glory and the pride Of sons and daughters nurtured at thy side, Though held by Zion's traitor enemies, Remains of Rigdon's wayward heresies, As loth to join the dying and the dead - The wrecks that strew the surface of the ground In picturesque profusion wide around - And sad, yet watchful, guards the crumbling stones - The relics of its country's exiled sons. |