Part 2 — THE UNMASKED.

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BY S. ANNA LEWIS.

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The struggle is over—my pulses once more

Leap free as the waves on the surf-beaten shore;

And my spirit looks up to that world of all bliss,

And heaves not a sigh for the faithless in this.

’Twas in Sorrow’s bleak night, when the sky was all dark,

And the tempest shrieked loud round my storm-beaten bark,

That arose, ’mid the darkness, thy radiant form,

Like the rainbow illuming the brow of the storm.

An angel thou seemedst, that had come to the earth,

To guide me—to nourish my heart in its dearth;

And blindly, as Paynim kneels down to his god,

I have loved thee—have worshiped the earth thou hast trod.

But this waste of affection—this prodigal part—

Is over—the mask has been torn from thy heart—

And back with affright and amazement I shrink—

At a fount so unholy my soul cannot drink.

Mormon Temple, Nauvoo