March 3rd I went down to the Temple
and spent the day writing in my Journal
and transacting Business

This Day composed for the Anniversary of
Hon Wilford Woodruff^s Birth day
By Emily B. Spencer

The myriads of Dead they often come
A mighty multitude in thought to me
They come from heaven Their lot to try on Earth
They come a brief time past, they died and left
Naught but a record that they had been here
Some names are mighty, in a worldly sense
And stand forth blazoned by the trump of Fame
While some are noted for the good they did
Their honest upright Philanthropic lives

Though many humble have sunk in death
Unto their names has fame lent not a Breath
But they are not forgotten Time has flung
The portals of the world unseen ajar
And those that lived are stepping up and on
To exaltation by the help of Friends
That living in mortality can aid
The dead and gone. The plan of Life
And of salvation has been wisely laid
That all that will obey may enter in
To joy and to salvation blessed state
For this we gather here as day By day
Rolls on to join Endless Eternity
To work for some Though humble they may be
That they can have their blessings whare they are
For this we gather on thy natal day
To cheer thy heart and Bless the ones that are
Of Kindred to thee, for the work is great
But when all lend a helping hand in time
Thy record will be finished and thy dead Redeemed
We wish the^e^ Joy and Peace this day
And all the comforts of this life we live
And all the blessings that our Lord can give
That Blessed in time and in Eternity
Thy soul shall cry Theirs nothing lacked by me
We humbly ask our Father and our God
To ratify these words in heaven above
And give thee all that mortals can receive
In heaven above or while thou still shalt Live
And many days like this mayst thou still see
While we delight to help and honor thee

Invocation! Lines Inscribed to Elder Wilford Woodruff

We do well to call you great—your worth
In vindicating the cause of truth
Long and loud from East, West, South, and North
Far from the scenes of all thy Early Youth
On the side of Truth, thy, voice is always heard
Reaching e'en beyound the seas to sound the word
Demons rage—yet onward upward is thy course

My mind runs back to Early days of yore
Bear with me while I tell those trials o'er
First a Priest—on Journey long in swampy land
Alone and—thy life was in thy hand
Bearing Precious seed to sow to Adams race
Proclaming Peace On Earth, good will from place to place
Angels guarded thee in all thy Journeyings through
Thy Early preachings saw the[e] safe back to Nauvoo
Was with the in times when Marteyrs fell
Sustained thee against the hordes of foes from hell
Nauvoo! Can I recount those times again
Of pain, and sorrow—anguish—deaths dark reign
Of Men women children—Bivouacked in shreads
Of clothing—in Lee County—Earth for beads [beds]
No Home, No friends—outcasts, all all in gloom
Despair—there seemed no peace save in the Tomb
Fields upon fields of Golden yellow grain
The increase of heaven seemed given in vain
Our foes prevailed—drove us with a ruthless hand
All was gone destruction ruled the Land
But then our God He did not us forsake
To cross trackless wilds our western Journey take

Can you forget when first you Salt Lak^e^ saw
Your hopes ran high—yor bosom heaved with awe
The Prophet Brigham in your carriage lay
You loved him well, You'll not forget the day

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

We grew and prospered in these desert lands
We sought and strove to keep the Lords comm[an]ds
Unnumberd blessings to the Saints were given
Shower'd by the beounteous hand of Heaven
Again our foes relentless—sought us out
And counted all our former trials nought
They wanted all, they wanted Brighams Life
They sought by Every means to stir up strife
They put our Prophet in the felons cell
You saw their acts you do remember still
The anquish of that hour, You posted men
Your pickets slumber'd not—Twas Godlike to defend
Our Noble Chief—But now he rests in peace
And Demons Howl and gnash their torments never cease
From then till now the toll has not been much
They're seeking still to grasp—unhallow'd touch
And rend Gods Kingdom—but alas tis vain
The crisis has not come—we'll conquer them again
We hail you then, though fugitive you be
From injustice, malice chains and Misery
A Prisioner with your friends Long may you live
See Zion triumph and the day of Peace arive
March 1, 1879 Your fellow servant W^M^ F Farnsworth