The Millennium, and Other Poems / To Which is Annexed, a Treatise on the Regeneration and Eternal Duration of Matter

  With joy and wonder all amazed,
  Upon their glorious Lord they gazed,
  And wist not what the vision meant
  But thought it was an angel sent

  While in their midst he smiling stood,
  Proclaimed himself the son of God,
  He said come forth and feel and see,
  That you may witness bear of me.

  And when they all had felt and seen
  Where once the nails and spear had been,
  Hosanna they aloud proclaimed,
  And blessed and praised his holy name,

  He then proceeded to make plain
  His gospel to the sons of men,
  The prophecies he did unfold,
  Yea, things that were in days of old.

  And every thing that should transpire
  Till element should melt with fire,
  Commanding them for to record
  The sayings of their risen Lord;

  That generation should be blessed,
  And with him in his kingdom rest;
  But, O! what scenes of sorrow rolled
  When he the future did unfold!

  Four generations should not pass
  Until they'd turn from righteousness,
  The Nephite nation be destroyed!
  The Lamanites reject his word,

  The gospel taken from their midst,
  The record of their fathers hid,
  They dwindle long in unbelief,
  And ages pass without relief,

  Until the Gentiles from afar,
  Should smite them in a dreadful war,
  And take possession of their land,
  And they should have no power to stand.

  But as their remnants wander far,
  In darkness, sorrow and despair,
  Lo! from the earth their record comes
  To gather Israel to their homes.

  First to the Gentiles 'tis revealed,
  The prophecy must be fulfilled;
  That they may know and understand
  His gospel, and no more contend.

  Hear! O ye Gentiles, and repent,
  To you is this salvation sent;
  God to the Gentiles lifts his hand,
  To gather Israel to their land.

  The mountains high, the rivers clear,
  Where heaven sheds her dews and tears,
  In silence, or with gentle roar,
  The God of love and peace adore.

  The earth, and air, and sea, and sky,
  The holy spirit from on high,
  And angels who above do reign,
  Cry peace on earth, good will to men.

  But most of all a Saviour's love,
  Was manifested from above,
  He died and rose to life again,
  Our freedom, love and peace to gain.

  But man,—vile man, alone seems lost,
  With hatred, pride and envy tossed,
  His hardened soul does seldom move,
  In freedom, union, peace or love.

  For him, let all creation mourn;
  O'er him did Enoch's bosom yearn,
  Till he was promised from above,
  A day of freedom, peace and love.

  This earth shall be a blessed place,
      To saints celestial given;
  Where Christ again shall show his face,
  With the redeemed of Adam's race,
      In clouds descend from heaven.

  Yes, when he comes on earth again,
      The wicked burn as stubble;
  Thus all his enemies are slain,
  And o'er the nations he shall reign,
      And end the scenes of trouble.

  The trump of war is heard no more,
      But all their strife is ended;
  While Jesus shall all things restore
  To order, as they were before,
      And peace o'er all extended.

  Sing, O ye heavens! let earth rejoice,
      While saints shall flow to Zion,
  And rear the temple of his choice,
  And in its courts unite their voice,
      In praise to Judah's Lion.

  Hosanna to the reign of peace!
      The day so long expected;
  When earth shall find a full release,
  The groanings of creation cease,
      The righteous well protected.

  Come, sound his praise in joyful strains.
      Who dwell beneath his banner;
  He'll bind old Satan fast in chains,
  And wide o'er earth's extended plains,
      The nations shout Hosanna.

  Ye chosen twelve, to you are given,
      The keys of this last ministry—
  To every nation under heaven,
      From land to land, from sea to sea.

  First to the Gentiles sound the news
      Throughout Columbia's happy land,
  And then before it reach the Jews,
      Prepare on Europe's shores to stand.

  Let Europe's towns and cities hear
      The gospel tidings angels bring;
  The Gentile nations far and near,
      Prepare their hearts His praise to sing.

  India's and Afric's sultry plains
      Must hear the tidings as they roll—
  Where darkness, death and sorrow reign,
      And tyranny has long controlled.

  Listen, ye islands of the sea—
      For every isle shall hear the sound:
  Nations and tongues before unknown,
      Though long since lost, shall soon be found.

  And then again shall Asia hear,
      Where angels first the news proclaimed:
  Eternity shall record bear,
      And earth repeat the loud, Amen.

  The nations catch the pleasing sound,
      And Jew and Gentile swell the strain,
  Hosanna o'er the earth resound,
      Messiah then will come to reign.

  But lo! the harvest wide extends—
      The fields are white o'er all the plain—
  The tares in bundles must be bound,
      While we with care secure the grain.

  Shall we repine when Jesus calls,
      Or count the sacrifice too great,
  To spend our lives as pilgrims here,
      Or loose them for the gospel's sake?

  When Jesus Christ has done the same,
      Without a place to lay his head,
  A pilgrim on the earth he came,
      Until for us his blood was shed.

  Shall we behold the nations doomed
      To sword and famine, blood and fire,
  Yet not the least exertion make,
      But from the scene in peace retire?

  No; while his love for me extends,
      The pattern makes my duty plain—
  I'll sound to earth's remotest ends,
      His gospel to the sons of men!

  Farewell, my kind and faithful friend,
      Until we meet on earth again—
  For soon our pilgrimage shall end,
      And the Messiah come to reign.

  O freedom, must thy spirit now withdraw
  From earth, returning to its native heaven,
  There to dwell, till armed with sevenfold vengeance
  It comes again to earth with king Messiah,
  And all his marshalled hosts in glory bright,
  To tread the winepress of Almighty God,
  And none escape?—ye powers of heaven forbid;—
  Let freedom linger still on shores of time,
  And in the breasts of thine afflicted saints,
  Let freedom find a peaceful retirement,—
  A place of rest;—till o'er the troubled earth—
  Mercy, justice, and eternal truth,
  While journeying hand in hand to exalt the humble
  And debase the proud, shall find some nation
  Poor, oppressed, afflicted and despised,
  Cast out and trodden under foot of tyrants
  Proud, the hiss, the bye-word, and the scorn of knaves:—
  And there let freedom's spirit wide prevail.
  And grow, and flourish—'mid the humble poor,
  Exhalted and enriched by virtue,
  Knowledge, temperance, and love—till o'er the earth
  Messiah comes to reign;—the proud consumed.
  No more oppress the poor.—
  Let Freedom's eagle then, (forthcoming, like
  The Dove from Noah's Ark) on lofty pinions soar,
  And spread its wide domain from end to end,
  O'er all the vast expanse of this wide earth,—
  While freedom's Temple rears its lofty spires
  Amid the skies, and on its bosom rests!
  A cloud by day and flaming fire by night!!
      But stay, my spirit, though thou feign would'st soar
  On high; mid scenes of glory, peace and joy;
  From bondage free, and bid thy jail farewell:—
  Stop,—wait awhile,—let patience have her perfect work,
  Return again to suffering scenes through which
  The way to glory lies; and speak of things
  Around thee,—thou art in prison still.
      But spring has now returned, the wintry blasts
  Have ceased to howl through my prison crevices.
      The soft and gentle breezes of the south
  Are whistling gayly past; and incense sweet
  On zephyr's wing, with fragrance fills the air,
  Wafted from blooming flowrets of the spring;
  While round my lonely dungeon oft is heard
  Melodious strains as if the birds of spring
  In anthems sweet conspired to pity and
  Console the drooping spirits there confined.
      All things around me show that days, and weeks,
  And months have fled, although to me not mark'd
  By sabbaths—and but faintly mark'd by dim
  And sombre rays of light alternate mid
  The gloom of overhanging night which still
  Pervades my drear and solitary cell.
  Where now those helpless ones I left to mourn?
  Have they perished? no.—what then!—has some
  Elijah call'd and found them in the last
  Extreme, and multiplied their meal and oil?
  Yes, verily,—the Lord has fill'd the hearts
  Of his poor saints with everlasting love,
  Which, in proportion to their poverty,
  Increased with each increasing want, till all
  Reduced unto the widow's mite and then
  Like her, their living they put in, and thus
  O'erflowed the treasury of the Lord with more
  Abundant stores than all the wealth of kings.
  And thus supported, fed, and clothed; and moved
  From scenes of sorrow to a land of peace—
  They live!—and living still they do rejoice
  In tribulation deep:
  Well knowing their redemption draweth nigh!

  Boast not, O proud Niagara! although
  Thou mayest withstand the ravages of time,
  While countless millions swept away with all
  Their mighty works, are lost in following years:
  Yet there is a voice to speak, long and loud!
  'Tis Michael's trump, whose mighty blast shall rend
  Thy rocks, and bow thy lofty mountains in the dust.
  Before whose awful presence thy waters
  Blush in retiring modesty; and in
  Respectful silence thou shalt stand, and listening,
  Wonder and admire, while thunders roll
  Majestic round the sky;—the lightnings play,—
  The mountains sink,—the valleys rise,—till earth,
  Restored to its original—receives
  Its final rest, and groans and sighs no more.
  Till then weep on, and let thy voice ascend,
  In solemn music to the skies;—it is
  A funeral dirge,—thou weepest o'er the miseries
  Of a fallen world—in anguish deep.

  See nature bursting into life and bloom:
  Joyous, it rises from its wintry tomb,
  Decked in pure robes of purple, white, or green:
  Perfumed with incense sweet—O lovely scene!
  Melodious sounds, with music soft and sweet,
  Thrill through the air—thy joyous presence greet.
  Behold, O Mary! and remember too,
  There is a spring to bloom for me and you;—
  We, like the spring, shall burst the sullen gloom.
  All clothed in white—eternally to bloom.
  We too, will join the choir his praise to sing,
  And hail the welcome of Eternal Spring.

  Lift up your heads, ye scattered saints,
      Redemption draweth nigh;
  Our Saviour hears the orphans' plaints';
      The widow's mournful cry.

  The blood of those who have been slain
      For vengeance cries aloud:
  Nor shall its cries ascend in vain,
      For vengeance on the proud.

  The signs in heaven and earth appear;
      And blood, and smoke, and fire;
  Men's hearts are failing them for fear;
      Redemption's drawing nigher.

  Earthquakes are bellowing 'neath the ground,
      And tempests through the air;—
  The trumpet's blast with fearful sound,
      Proclaims the alarm of war.

  The saints are scattered to and fro,
      Through all the earth abroad;
  The gospel trump again to blow,
      And then behold their God.

  Rejoice, ye servants of our God,
      Who to the end endure;
  Rejoice, for great is your reward,
      And your defence is sure.

  Although this body should be slain
      By cruel, wicked hands;
  I'll praise my God in higher strains,
      And on Mount Zion stand.

  Glory to God, ye saints rejoice,
      And sigh and groan no more;
  But listen to the spirit's voice;
      Redemption's at the door.

  This is the day that gave me birth
      In eighteen hundred seven;
  From worlds unseen I came to earth,
      Far from my native heaven.

  Thirty and two long years have pass'd,
      To grief and sorrow given;
  And now to crown my woes at last
      I am confined in prison.

  'Tis not for crimes that I have done
      That to my foes I'm given,
  But to the world I am unknown,
      And my reward's in heaven.

  What troubled scenes may yet ensue
      To strew my path with sorrow,
  Is not for me to know, 'tis true,
      I boast not of to-morrow.

  One thing is sure, this life at best
      Is like a troubled ocean;
  I often wish myself at rest
      From all its dire commotion.

  But let its troubled bosom heave,
      Its surges beat around me;
  To truth, eternal truth, I cleave,
      Its floods can never drown me.

  Torn from our friends and captive led,
      'Mid armed legions bound in chains,
  That peace for which our fathers bled
      Is gone, and dire confusion reigns.

  Zion, our peaceful happy home,
      Where oft we joined in praise and prayer,
  A desolation has become,
      And grief and sorrow linger there.

  Her virgins sigh, her widows mourn,
      Her children for their parents weep;
  In chains her priests and prophets groan,
      While some in deaths cold arms do sleep.

  Exultingly her savage foes
      Now ravage, steal and plunder, where
  A virgin's, tears, a widow's woes,
      Became their song of triumph there.

  How long, O Lord, wilt thou forsake
      The saints who tremble at thy word?
  Awake, O arm of God, awake—
      And teach the nations thou art God.

  Descend with all thy holy throng,
      The year of thy redeem'd bring near;
  Haste—haste the day of vengeance on—
      Bid Zion's children dry their tears.

  Deliver, Lord, thy captive saints,
      And comfort those who long have mourn'd;
  Bid Zion cease her dire complaints,
      And all creation cease to groan.

  Here nature too, her grandest works display;
  Sublimest themes inspire the Poet's lays,
  As if creative power in skill progressed,
  As onward still it moved towards the west.

  Till here it finished with a master hand
  Its mightiest works—to excel all other lands.
  In awful majesty our mountains rise,
  O'erlook the clouds, and tower amid the skies,
  Their lofty summits bid defiance bold,
  They fear no rival heights in older worlds.

  'Tis true Himmaleh, (Asia's highest peak,)
  Has dared with Chimborazo to compete;
  But then our rocky summits—scarce explored
  Some nameless rival heights may yet afford;
  Whose towering pride shall seize the starry crown,
  And cast Himmaleh, humbled, to the ground.

  Our proud volcanoes, belching forth their flames,
  With smoke and lava, overwhelm the plains;
  Their lightnings play—their awful thunders roar,
  Convulse the earth and sea from shore to shore.
  Among them Cotopaxi's awful voice
  Would silence Etna,—drown Vesuvius' noise;
  While Europe wondering listens to admire
  The power superior of Columbia's fires.

  Our lakes, like inland seas expanding wide,
  Have not a parallel on earth beside.
  Ontario, Erie, Huron, Michigan,
  And vast Superior form the mighty plan,
  Their waves like oceans wash the verdant shore,
  In western wilds too boundless to explore.

  Can Europe, Africa, or Asia boast
  A lake compared with these in all their coasts?
  Our rivers too, pursue their lengthened way,
  From far off mountains to the distant sea,
  Through fertile vales,—the flowery meads along,
  And chiming still their gently murmuring song;
  Receiving grateful tribute as they run.
  From thousand streams all mingling into one.

  Lo! wild Missouri's waters have their source
  In unknown regions to the west and north,
  From limpid lakes or from the mountain snows,
  From thousand springing streams its current flows;
  Mid vast prairies, winds its lengthened way,
  Two thousand miles where savage hunters stray,
  Then quits its wildly wanderings to receive
  The busy hum of commerce on its wave.

  Two thousand more its rapid current flows,
  Receiving still large rivers as it goes,
  Young Empires flourish all along its tide,
  And joyous cities rise on every side.
  What is the boasted Nile compared with this?
  Its magnitude is lost in nothingness,

  Asia and Europe's longest, proudest streams
  'Longside Missouri's tide how short they seem!
  Our cataracts too, in grandeur far outvie,
  The noblest waterfalls beyond the sea.
  See grand Niagara's stream majestic glide,
  The venturous steamer floating on its tide:
  Its limpid waters draining half a world,
  Into the yawning gulf are headlong hurled,
  And for a moment lose the light of day,—
  Dash on the rocks—then rise in misty spray.

  The playful sunbeams trembling kiss its tears,
  And from this loved embrace the bow appears;
  Commingling colors of the liveliest hue
  From purple red, to yellow, pink, and blue.
  These mingling join the sportive, airy dance,
  Their beauty half concealed from vulgar glance;
  Now veil'd in clouds—now bursting to the view
  In blushing modesty, the dance renew;
  While music rolls in awful, solemn sound,
  Heard in the distance, many leagues around.

  Or turn to Tequendama's awful steep,
  See wild Bogota's waters boldy leap,
  Down from the lofty Andes' heights of snow,
  To flowery plains, where spring's soft breezes blow:
  'Mid scenes of majesty unrival'd stand,
  And view the wonders of Columbia's land.
  Our climate stretching far through every zone,
  Presents variety elsewhere unknown.
  Lo! in the North eternal winter reigns,
  And binds the ocean in his icy chains;
  Locked in the stupor of his cold embrace
  All nature seems to sleep:—yet here we trace
  Some signs of life,—of joy, and happiness,
  Some icy cottage of domestic bliss,
  Where love sits smiling, (from the blast secure)
  In native modesty,—with soul as pure,
  And chaste, and lovely, as their virgin snows,
  While to the chase her lord, or lover goes;
  And if per chance he takes a Bear, or Seal,
  Amid the dangers of the icy field,
  Returns in triumph to his humble cot
  Where lost in love his troubles are forgot.
  Our northern states present a clime severe,
  Where wintry blasts are howling half the year;
  But spring arising from its wintry tomb,
  Renew'd in freshness sheds a sweet perfume;
  Decked in pure robes of purple, white or green,
  Adorned with flowrets bright:—O, lovely scene!
  Melodious sounds of music, soft and sweet
  Thrill through the air,—it's joyous welcome greet.
  There autumn's richest blessings crown the year,
  And there the rose on beauty's cheek appears.

  Our southern climes for mildness may compare,
  With Italy, and France, whose gentle air
  Became the subject of the Poet's dream,
  Or breathed in music soft, the lover's theme.
  There rapturous passions kindle in the soul
  Their warmest fires,—impatient of control:
  There love's soft graces beam in woman's eye
  And beauty's cheek is tinged with paler dye.
  There balmy sweets perfume the breath of morn,
  And shady groves the noonday walks adorn;
  While gentle zephyrs kiss the blushing flowers,
  And healthful breezes cool the evening hours.
  Our soil, with Eden's garden would compare,
  Nay more,—forbidden fruit was growing there;
  But here the trees of life and knowledge stand reveal'd,
  And free to all,—no poison is conceal'd
  In wisdom's fruit,—Our Eves may satisfy
  Their souls with knowledge here; nor fear to die.

  Missouri, a country how sad and how low,
      How fallen from glory, from freedom, from pride,
  O, would that oblivion its mantle would throw
      O'er thee, and the depth of thy wickedness hide.

  Thou should'st never rejoice—think not of the day
      When Columbia for freedom first struggled so bold,
  When thousands assembled in battle array,
      The star-spangled banner of freedom unfurled;

  Think not of the patriots that bled in her cause,
      Who met all undaunted the foemen's dark brow,
  They gave to their country beneficent laws
      Of right and protection but where are they now?

  Disturb not the rest of the free and the brave,
      Enshrined deep in honor they sweetly repose,
  They swore that the banner of freedom should wave
      O'er their dear native land regardless of foes,

  But thou, O Missouri, hast trampled on all
      That free men would fight for or patriots feel
  O thou queen of the west how great is thy fall—
      Thy wounds deep and deadly no balsam can heal.

  Let us fly, let us fly to the land where the light
      Of Liberty's stars still illumine each spot,
  Where the cottager's smile for ever is bright,
      And the chains of a tyrant encircle us not.

  In the fair Illinois the eagle's bold wing
      Is stretched o'er a people determined and free,
  And the shouts of her sons in melody ring
      O'er her bower covered groves and fine prairie.

  Adieu to the city, where long I have wandered,
      To tell them of judgments and warn them to flee;
  How often in sorrow, their woes I have pondered:
      Perhaps in affliction, they'll think upon me.

  With a tear of compassion, in silence retiring,
      The last ray of hope for your safety expiring;
  A feeling of pity this bosom inspiring—
      Sing this lamentation and think upon me.

  How often at evening your halls have resounded
      With th' pure testimony of Jesus, so free;
  While the meek were rejoicing, the proud were confounded,
      The poor had the gospel;—they'll think upon me.

  When Empires shall tremble at Israel returning,
      And earth shall be cleans'd by the Spirit of burning;
  When proud men shall perish, and Priests with their learning,—
      Sing this lamentation, and think upon me.

  When the Union is severed, and liberty's blessings
      Withheld from the sons of Columbia, once free;
  When bloodshed and war, and famine d'stress them,
      Remember the warning! and think upon me.

  When this mighty city shall crumble to ruin,
      And sink as a millstone, the merchants undoing;
  The ransom'd, the highway of Zion pursuing,—
      Sing this lamentation, and think upon me.

  The joys of home I once have tasted,
      All its pleasures called my own;
  Friendship's purest pleasures graced it,
      But they're gone,—I'm left alone,

  Now no more that smile of gladness
      Welcomes me at my return;
  But a lonely, solemn sadness:
      Oh she's gone,—I'm left alone!

  Oft when clouds of care and trouble,
      Like a tempest o'er me roll'd,
  A look, a word, an act of kindness,
      Served to calm my troubled soul.

  When by pain and sickness wasted,
      Oft she lingered near my bed;
  Fed me, nursed me as an angel,
      Washed my feet or bathed my head.

  When to western wilds I wandered,
      Rear'd in solitude my cot;
  Clear'd away the gloomy forest,—
      She with flowers adorned the spot.

  When by ruthless mobs was driven,
      Wounded, bleeding, from my home,
  Wandering in a land of strangers,
      Pilgrim like she with me roamed.

  When in distant climes I wander'd,
      To bear glad tidings to mankind;
  She shared my toils and travels gladly,
      Or would consent to stay behind.

  Returning from a distant journey,
      She always met me with a smile;
  Wash'd my feet and changed my raiment,
      And bade me rest from all my toil.

  But now alone I'm left to wander,
      From land to land, from sea to sea;
  And none except my only offspring
      Will scarce inquire what comes of me.

  And e'n to him I'll seem a stranger,
      While he is reared by other hands;
  He'll hardly feel I am his father,
      When I return from distant lands.

  What is it then for which I linger,
      Still in this dark and dreary waste?
  Where nothing centers my affection,
      Where others' joys I cannot taste.

  If I must still consent to tarry,
      'Twill be to bear another's grief:
  To save mankind from sin and sorrow,
      And bring the broken heart relief.

  To comfort those who mourn in Zion,
      And bid ten thousand others come;
  Where the widow, orphan, virgin,
      And the poor may find a home.

  Creation speaks with awful voice—
      Hark! 'tis a universal groan
  Re-echoes through the vast extent
      Of worlds unnumbered called to mourn.

  For sickness, sorrow, pain and death,
      With awful tyranny have reigned;
  While all eternity has shed
      Her tears of sorrow o'er the slain.

  But hark, again; a voice is heard,
      Resounding through the sullen gloom;
  A mighty conquerer has appear'd,
      And rose triumphant from the tomb.

  No longer let creation mourn;
      Ye sons of sorrow, dry your tears;
  Life—life—eternal life is ours,
      Dismiss your doubts, dispel your fears.

  The King shall soon in clouds descend,
      With all the heav'nly hosts above;
  The dead shall rise and hail their friends,
      And always dwell with those they love.

  No tears, no sorrow, death or pain,
      Shall e'er be known to enter there;
  But perfect peace, immortal bloom,
      Shall reign triumphant ev'ry where!