TWENTY-FOURTH OF JULY TOAST—"UTAH."
O Utah, thou Switzerland of America,
The home of many a Tell,
For freedom's fires are burning bright,
In all thy mountain dells.
Thou art the cradle, and the home
Of freedom's struggling child;
For here beneath thy mountain domes,
Within thy canyons wild,
A band of fleeing exiles
Found first a "resting place"
From persecution's bitter blast,
That smote them in the face.And Utah's pioneers who fled
From Missouri's wrath and flames—
Whose unshod feet so often bled,
While creeping o'er the plains—
Are grateful for the noble men
Who stand as "beacon lights,"
Who "sink or swim, in life or death;"
Stand up for equal rights.
We love our country—north and south,
Her plains, and mountain sod,
We stand for "Freedom of the soul,"
"Our country and our God."
KILAUEA ON THE WAR PATH.
In 1856 and '57, I was laboring as a missionary on the island of Hawaii, and during that time the volcano of Kilauea gave us an exhibition on a stupendous scale. In company with Elder Henry P. Richards, I went through the forest several miles and met the stream of lava that was running down the mountain, threatening to destroy the town of Hilo. Here is an extract from my journal:
We paused to contemplate the sublimity of this vivid scene. It was one calculated to interest the naturalist, and to please the eye of the poet. The wonderful imagination of a Milton, or the great genius of a Byron could here find a theme on which their minds could feast.
The lava had burst forth from its prison cell, in the bowels of the earth, on the south side of the mountain, some thirty miles above the town of Hilo, which is situated at the head of a beautiful bay bearing the name of Byron. The close approximation of the town to the mountain rendered destruction almost certain. The mountain was covered with a dense growth of timber, and as the mighty stream of running lava drew near, the forest seemed to catch an electric spark, and in the twinkling of an eye, one sheet of flame burst forth, reaching from Pueo to Puna, about three miles in width. The startled Kanaka fled for his life, leaving his grass thatched home to the devastating fire.
I stood, with my companion, upon a craggy peak overlooking the waters of Waikahalulu. Below us was a beautiful cascade, and over this the lava swept with astonishing rapidity. Oh, it was a grand sight—the burning of the forest, the crackling and falling of the trees, the rushing of the lava, the hissing and spouting of the water, the clouds of steam and vapor, mingled with the shrieks and shouts of the natives!
I saw a man in his frenzy try to leap a boiling stream; his foot slipped, and he fell. A cloud of vapor hid him from view, but an agonizing shriek told too well his fate.
Our native guide refused to stay longer with us, but the increasing danger added to our excited fascination, and we declined to retreat. At this moment, the wind shifted, and a strong breeze from the south lifted the banks of smoke and steam, giving us a fair view of the town that nestled so lovingly on the green lawn at our feet.
We could see groups of people laden with what they could carry, hurrying from their homes to places of greater safety. A few ships were anchored in the bay, and between them and the shore, small boats were rapidly plying, evidently carrying the wealthier citizens to these prepared places of safety.