Of his skill and power as a writer, the reader who has followed us through this volume, has seen some evidence from the extracts from his writings. These, however, have been mainly from his discussions, editorials and newspaper articles in the defense of Zion and her interests; and from his theological works. Powerful as he was in his style of composition, he also had ability in other departments of literature. He wrote in part a drama founded on incidents recorded in the Book of Mormon. He never completed it, and the manuscript of it, unfortunately, is lost; but those who heard it read, speak of it as giving evidence of considerable dramatic skill in its construction, and applaud the speeches of the characters for vigor and elegance of diction.

President Taylor was also a poet; and from the deep religious nature of the man, it could but be expected that the grand themes suggested by the gospel would inspire his muse. The restoration of the gospel, the going forth of messengers of glory with it to the sons of men, furnished him with inspiration for several hymns published in the Latter-day Saints' Hymn Book. The one on page 295, beginning—

"The glorious plan which God has given,
To bring a ruined world to heaven,"

suggested by this passage of scripture—"For there are three that bear record in heaven, the Father, the Word and the Holy Ghost; and these three are one; and there are three that bear witness in earth, the Spirit, the water and the blood; and these three are one"[[1]]—is not only a poem, but a discourse in which the harmony and beauty of the Triune witnesses in heaven and in earth are made to stand out in bold relief.

Friendship also inspired his muse, and his "Response" to Parley P. Pratt's "Fiftieth Year;"[[2]] and "The Seer,"[[3]] written in memory of the Prophet Joseph Smith, are two of his noblest pieces in verse.

His friends speak of a number of his poems that were never published, written in different strains from those with which the public is familiar, especially of one written while crossing the Atlantic, highly humorous and exhibiting an extensive knowledge of mythology. This is not to be found among his papers.

The following in blank verse is worthy of preservation for the grandeur and sublimity of the theme. It was written September 5th, 1846:

LINES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF MISS ABBY JANE HART, OF NEW YORK CITY.

ABBY: knowest thou whence thou camest? Thine
Origin? Who thou art? What? And whither thou
Art bound? A crysolis of yesterday:
Today a gaudy, fluttering butterfly—
A moth; tomorrow crushed, and then an end
Of thee. Is this so? and must thou perish
Thus, and die ingloriously without a hope?

Ah, no; thou art no such thing. Thou in the
Bosom of thy Father bask'd and liv'd, and
Mov'd thousands of years ago. Yes, e'er this
Mundane sphere from chaos sprung, or sun, or
Moon, or stars, or world was fram'd; Before the
Sons of God for joy did shout, or e'er the
Morning stars together sung—thou liv'd'st.
Thou liv'dst to live again. Ah, no! thou liv'd
But to continue life eternal—to
Live and move, and act eternally. Yes;
Long as a spirit, God or world exists;
From everlasting, eternal, without end!
And whilst thou dwelt in thy paternal home,
And with thy brethren shar'd extatic bliss,
All that a spirit could, not clothed in flesh,
Thou through the vista of unnumbered years
Saw'st through the glimmering veil that thou would'st
Dwell in flesh—just as the Gods.

Tread in the
Footsteps of thine elder brother, Jesus—
The "Prince of Peace," for whom a body was prepared.

Thou heard; thou look'd; thou long'd; thou pray'd;
Thou hop'd for this, at length it came; and thou
Appeared on this terraqueous ball,
From the hands of Eloheim—eternal
As himself—part of thy God. A small spark
Of Deity, struck from the fire of his eternal blaze.

Thou cam'st! thou cam'st to live! of life thou art
A living monument; to it thou still
Dost cling—eternal life! To thee all else
Are straw and chaff, and bubbles light as air;
And will be all, until thou gain'st once more
Thy Father's breast; raised, quickened, immortal;
Body, spirit, all; a God among the Gods forever bless'd.
Abby, and hast thou dared to launch thy
Fragile barque on truth's tempestuous sea;
To meet the pelting storm and proudly brave
The dangers of the raging main; and through
The rocks and shoals, and yawning gulfs pursue
The nearest way to life, in hopes that thou
Woulds't speedily gain a seat among the Gods?

See'st thou the multitudes who sail in
Guilded barques, and gently float along the
Silvery stream? Downward they go with sweet,
Luxurious ease, and scarce a zephyr moves
The tranquil bosom of the placid stream.
Unconscious of the greatness of the prize
They might obtain, they glide along in peace;
And as they never soar aloft, nor mount
On eagle's wings, nor draw aside the veil
Of other worlds, they know none else than this—
No other joys. They dream away their life,
And die forgot, just as the butterfly,
They gaily flutter on; today they live—
Tomorrow are no more.

And though, like thee
In them is the eternal spark, thousands
Of weary years must roll along er'e they
Regain the prize they might with thee have shar'd.
Regain it? Never! no! They may come where
Thou wert, but never can they with thee share
Extatic bliss.

For whils't in heaven's progressive
Science skilled, thou soard'st from world to world, clad
In the robes of bright seraphic light; and
With thy God, eternal—onward goest, a
Priestess and a queen—reigning and ruling in
The realms of light. Unlike the imbeciles
Who dared not brook the scorn of men, and knew not
How to prize eternal life.

Abby, the cup's within thy reach; drink thou
The vital balm and live!

How priceless the album containing such a gem!