Poem from William W. Phelps, 7 November 1843

  • Source Note
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The goodly city of
November 7. (and that will do.)
President Smith; how do ye do?
From me this line will speak with you.
Health, peace and grace, and all things, too
Be unto you <thee>, till life is through.
A blight o’er me, has shadow’d you;
But still my soul to you is true;
I ask no wealth of old or new,
But come what will, I’ll make it do.
I can not live as others do,
And be a half a man with you;
I am a man, as men can view,
And god will let me die or do!
You bless the Twelve with things anew
So bless my with something, too.
Twelve years she’s waded through
The sea of woe without ado,
And still remains the same— and true;
Deed her a lot; and that will do:
( knows the one in view.)
May God your path with honor strew
Is ’ poetry to you. [p. [1]]
The goodly city of
November 7. (and that will do.)
President Smith; how do ye do?
From me this line will speak with you.
Health, peace and grace, and all things, too
Be unto thee, till life is through.
A blight o’er me, has shadow’d you;
But still my soul to you is true;
I ask no wealth of old or new,
But come what will, I’ll make it do.
I can not live as others do,
And be a half a man with you;
I am a man, as men can view,
And god will let me die or do!
You bless the Twelve with things anew
So bless my with something, too.
Twelve years she’s waded through
The sea of woe without ado,
And still remains the same— and true;
Deed her a lot; and that will do:
( knows the one in view.)
May God your path with honor strew
Is ’ poetry to you. [p. [1]]
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