Close of Mission.--Bids adieu to the Saints and scenes of his
labors.--Poem, in which martial and ecclesiastical labors and
honors are contrasted.--Lorenzo returns home.--Chosen Member
of Legislature.--President of Council.--Reflections.--Joy and
sorrow.--Vision.--A covenant.--Charlotte's death.--Singular
manifestation.--A little prattler.--Quandary.--Solution.--Social
party.--Storm.--Drenched.--Lorenzo decides to build.--A
struggle.--Proves a success.
At length the time for his departure arrived, and Lorenzo bade
adieu to the Saints in the "Old World," with all the attractions of
nature and of art with which their countries are justly celebrated.
Had his mission been one of ordinary character--one that pertained
to earth and earthly things, he might have yielded to the power of
fascination; but with him the worth of souls--the elevation, happiness
and exaltation--the emancipation from the bondage of priestcraft and
tradition of his fellow-men, was the great mission with which he
was invested, and until honorably released, nothing--not even the
endearments of home--would draw him from his post, nor divide his
interest. But when released by the same authority by which he went
forth, although his affections twined around the Saints from whom he
soon would be separated by long distance; home, his wives and children,
and associations with the Saints of God in the valleys of Ephraim,
constituted a powerful magnet, which none but those who are husbands
and fathers can realize.
Well may the fire of glory blaze
Upon the warrior's tread,
And nation's twine the wreath of praise
Around the hero's head;
His path is honored, and his name
Is written on the spire of fame.
His deeds are deeds of courage, for
He treads on gory ground,
Amid the pride and pomp of war,
When carnage sweeps around:
With sword unsheathed he stands before
The foe, amid the cannon's roar.
If such the meed the warrior gains;
If such the palm he bears;
If such insignia he obtains;
If such the crown he wears;
If laurels thus his head entwine,
And stars of triumph 'round him shine;
How noble must be his reward,
Who, 'midst the crafts of men,
Clad in the armor of the Lord,
Goes forth to battle, when
The powers of darkness warfare wage,
And Satan's hosts around him rage.
Who goes opinion to unbind
That reason may be free,
And liberate the human mind
From cleric tyranny:
Who severs superstition's rod,
And propagates the truth of God.
Who wars with prejudice to break
Asunder error's chain,
And make the sandy pillars shake
Where human dogmas reign,
Who dares to be a man of God,
And bears the "Spirit's sword" abroad.
Above all earthly his shall be
An everlasting fame--
The Archives of Eternity
Will register his name:
With gems of sacred honor rife,
His crown will be ETERNAL LIFE.
After an absence of nearly three years, starting from Malta, and, after
stopping a few days in Gibraltar, Lorenzo returned home by way of
Portsmouth, London, Liverpool, New York and St. Louis, arriving in Salt
Lake City, July 30, 1852.
In the following autumn he was elected to the Utah Legislature, and
continued a member until disfranchised in 1882 by the decision of
the "Commissioners" appointed by the President of the United States,
to execute the notorious Edmunds law in Utah; and served, during ten
years, as President of the Legislative Council.
The following episode is from my brother's journal: Arriving at my
home in Salt Lake City, the long anticipated oasis of this portion
of my life-journey--the beacon light which succeeded my arduous
missionary labors, and shone with a brighter beam than all other
earthly luminaries, the happiness of once again meeting my loved
and loving family would have been full, but alas! there was a sad
vacancy. A lovely one was not; one who ever met me with a smiling
face and a loving heart, was not there to respond to love's sacred
call; Charlotte, my dear wife, had been stricken down by death, and
her beautiful form lay mouldering in the silent tomb. Yet there was
consolation in the thought that her pure spirit was mingling with holy
beings above. A short time after Charlotte's decease, while I was in
Italy, a sister in London, a very faithful Saint, the wife of Elder
Jabez Woodard, had an open vision, in which she saw a beautiful woman,
the most lovely being she ever beheld, clothed in white robes and
crowned with glory. This personage told Mrs. Woodard that she was a
wife of Lorenzo Snow. So much for the journal.
All life-pictures have their backgrounds, and the death referred
to threw a damper on what otherwise might have been an excess of
enjoyment. But much more of instruction is to be drawn from the
circumstances of this death than would strike the uninformed reader.
It stands as an uncontroverted testimony that God, sometimes at least,
takes us at our word, and holds us responsible for the fulfilment of
covenants which we make with Him.
On the mountain in Italy which was subsequently named "Mount Brigham,"
on the same memorable day in which the Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints was there organized, Lorenzo, in the force of his
spirit, aroused by intense interest in the work devolving upon him,
which seemed shrouded in darkness, and probably without realizing the
weight of his covenant, told the Lord that he knew of no sacrifice he
could possibly make he was not willing to offer, that the Lord might
grant a request concerning the mission before him. When I received a
copy of the report of the proceedings of the day, in which the above
was included, I was deeply struck with the coincidence. Just at this
time, as nearly as I could calculate by comparing dates and distances,
the Lord removed, by the hand of death, from my brother's family
circle, one of the loveliest of women.
Charlotte died very suddenly. I was with her and saw her draw the last
breath; her beloved husband was very far away, but his name was on her
dying lips. She loved truly for she loved sincerely; and as she loved,
so was she beloved by all who knew her. As she had been very beautiful
in life, she was beautiful even in death. She left one dear little
girl, which, although bereaved of a tenderly affectionate mother, has
been kindly cared for by other members of the family, and is now wife
of an honorable husband, and mother of five children.
I will here relate a very singular circumstance which occurred after
Charlotte's death. Charlotte and Sarah Ann, another wife, had roomed
together, as it will be recollected that prior to his going to Italy
Lorenzo had erected a log house as a temporary expedient for a shelter
to his family till he had time and opportunity to provide better, and
was so soon called to leave that very little opportunity was afforded
for furnishing more than necessity required, and, of course, his wives
were not supplied with extra apartments.
After Charlotte's death Sarah Ann felt such a sad loneliness that with
all the control of feeling she could exercise, a shuddering sensation
came over her at the thought of sleeping in that, to her, desolate
room--it required all the bravery she could command to enter it in the
day time, and for several nights she made her bed in an adjoining room,
until the following circumstance, which she related to me, occurred.
One night, whether asleep or awake when the vision commenced, Sarah Ann
could not tell; but she thought it was mid-day, and that the family
were all seated in their dining-room, when a very bright light, above
the brightness of the sun, burst into the apartment, and in the midst
of that light Charlotte entered, sat down and took her little daughter,
Roxcy Charlotte, on her lap, and the extra light in which she came
disappeared. She said she was happy, which her calm, settled expression
verified. She said, "_I dwell in a beautiful place_." The brilliant
light returned after a short time, and Charlotte went as she came, in
the midst of the light. At this time Sarah Ann was fully awake, and
although no moon was shining at the time, her room was sufficiently
lighted that (as she describes it) "one could see to pick up a pin."
This singular manifestation so completely revolutionized her feelings
that on the following day, with the greatest pleasure, she replaced
her bed in the deserted room, from whence all gloom and loneliness had
departed.
After a short absence, the return of a missionary to the bosom of his
family awakens mutual emotions of no ordinary character, and, in spite
of the heart-yearnings for the departed one, that house, the home of
wives and children, was lighted up with a brilliant glow of happiness.
While the original was absent, the father's portrait hung on the wall,
which the children with affectionate deference caressed and invoked,
and when they heard the announcement, "_He has come_," exhilarating
shouts of joy resounded through that humble dwelling as none but
children can put forth.
One little prattler, named Sylvia, born a short time after her father
left home, seemed to anticipate his arrival with as much enthusiasm
as those that remembered him; but after he came, she wholly ignored
and would not be coaxed to approach him. On the second day after his
arrival, as he was sitting in the family circle, she entered the room,
and slyly stepping up to one of the children, she made the inquiry,
"Is that my favvy?" On being answered in the affirmative, she went to
another child and asked, "Is that my favvy?" and received the same
answer. She then placed herself directly in front of her father and
looking him full in the face, said, emphatically, "_Is you my favvy_?"
He answered, "_Yes, I am your father_." She then said, "_Well then, if
you is my favvy I will kiss you_," and with a mutual warm embrace she
gave him a hearty kiss.
Now to his journal: My house, built of logs, with roof made of willows
and earth, and floors of primitive style, just before starting on my
mission, had already become quite uncomfortable, and could not be
sufficiently improved to meet the requirements of ordinary convenience.
Having but little means at my command, I found it difficult to decide
whether or not to undertake to erect a suitable building for my family;
but the following circumstance settled the question: President B. Young
proposed a select party to convene in the "Social Hall," to which
myself and my wives were invited. My sister Eliza kindly proffered to
keep house, and care for the children in our absence. While enjoying
ourselves in the hall, a heavy shower of rain fell, and on our arrival
home I learned that my sister had been obliged to struggle against
difficulties which she had failed to take into account, when kindly
volunteering her services.
The whole of the carpetless floor, beds, bedding, etc., etc., were
completely saturated with the pouring element. As the shower came on,
some portions of the roof over the beds stood the test better than
others, and to the beds that were under those portions she consigned
the children until the rain poured down upon them, when she moved them
to another and dryer bed--continuing the process of carrying them from
bed to bed, until every bed, and even every part of the house was
thoroughly soaking wet. As I looked upon the scene around me, a sense
of the condition decided the matter, and I concluded to try to build.
Through the blessing of God upon my efforts--with great economy and
perseverance--I succeeded far beyond my most sanguine expectations. I
erected a large two-story adobe house, with nine rooms--finished off
several of them and moved into it with all my family, feeling truly
thankful to the Giver of all good for the blessing of a comfortable and
respectable habitation.
When his house was in course of erection, when no eye but that of God
could see him, he frequently knelt within its foundation and prayed
that the small means he could command, might be blest and multiplied in
its use. Thus by economy, labor, effort, faith and prayer, he succeeded.