# Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/Paraphrase of Part of the Book of Amos

POETICAL PIECES.
PARAPHRASE OF PART OF THE BOOK OF AMOS.
I FROM no princely stock or lineage came,
My father bore no prophet's honour'd name,
Nor fame, nor power upheld his humble lot,
Nor wealth, nor splendour deck'd my native cot:
A shepherd's garment clad my youthful form,
Made rough by toil, and harden'd to the storm;
I led o'er hills and dales, wild streams and rocks,
The wand'ring footsteps of my herds and flocks.
I pointed where beneath the furrow sprung
The first, soft herbage, delicate and young;
I led them where the murm'ring waters wound
Their fruitful course, along the moisten'd ground;
And when the noontide sun with fervent heat,
Upon their drooping heads too fiercely beat,
I guided where the mountain's shelt'ring head,
Its sable shade across the landscape spread;
And while they sunk in rest and slumbers meek,
I wander' d forth my simple meal to seek;
The juicy wild fig, and the chrystal tide,
My strength renew'd, and nature's wants supply'd.
And then, when evening slowly drew her shade,
And on the dewy lawn my flocks were laid,
Wrapt in my mantle from the chilling wind,
I gave to holy thoughts my wakeful mind:
The stars that in their mystic circles move,
The sparkling blue of the high arch above,
The pomp of night, her slow majestic power,
The solemn silence of her midnight hour,
The gentle softness of the unveil'd moon,
All seem'd to speak of Him, the Everlasting One.
From solemn musing, heavenly visions stole,
With sleep's soft footstep on my thoughtful soul,
Till in the purpled east, the morning star
Departing, wak'd me to my daily care.
Once as I rose from slumbers soft and sweet,
And found my lambs reposing at my feet,
And saw the morning light the hills invest,
Gleam o'er the forests, gild the mountain's breast,
Dart on the sparkling streams, and shoot its way
Through the dark vales where slumb'ring vapors lay,
It seem'd within my breast a light there shone,
More clear and splendid than the rising sun,
And while my every nerve with rapture thrill'd,
A Power Supreme my soul in silence held.
Prone on the earth my bending knees I bow'd,
My rais'd eyes fixing on a crimson cloud,
Which from its cleaving arch this mandate bore,
"Go, shepherd, lead thy much lov'd flock no more."
My trembling lips now prest the soil I trod,
"Shepherd! forsake thy flock, and be the Seer of God."
Uprising at the heavenly call, I laid
My crook and scrip beneath the spreading shade,
"I go, I go, my God," my answering spirit said.
Through the rough stream I dash'd, whose foaming tide
Came whit'ning from the mountain's hoary side:
O'er rocks I bounded, thro' dark forests ran,
To seek the busy haunts of guilty man.
Yet pressing on my path, I heard with pain
The echoing footsteps of a distant train;
I saw my snowy lambs approaching near,
And wondering at their master's bold career;
With gentle look, and piteous moans they stood,
To ask of me their guidance and their food.
A moment pausing in my anxious race,
I dash'd the gathering tear-drop from my face,
For as I look'd upon my fleecy pride,
I thought who now their wandering steps should guide;
But still within the holy impulse burn'd,
And soon its answering thoughts my heart return'd:
"My tender lambs, my unfed flock, adieu,
My God, a shepherd will provide, for you;
One kind as I have been; whose care shall guide
You, where fresh pastures smile, and fountains glide:
A hand unseen, a voice and purpose true,
Divide you from my charge, and me from you."
And who shall hesitate when God commands?
Whether to foreign climes, or heathen lands,
His messenger he sends, who feels with pain,
Nature's strong bands his summon'd step detain!
But woe to him if bands like these control
The heavenly purpose planted in his soul,
If glittering stores, or scenes in childhood trod,
Or joys of home, or ties of kindred blood,
Shall draw his wavering heart, more than the call of God.
What tho' my shepherd's coat, and rustic ways,
Ill suit the prophet's venerable grace;
What tho' the charge I bring be dark with fear,
And sound but harshly on the guilty ear;
What though my heart its last red drop shall drain,
And I must slumber with the prophets slain;
Yet He, who summon'd from that distant rock,
The rough-clad man to leave his fleecy flock,
With strength will gird him, for his wants provide,
And hush the clamors of the sons of pride,
Or from these climes where fears and dangers roll,
Receive to endless rest the weary martyr'd soul.
Untir'd and undismayed my way I led,
Where proud Samaria's outstretch'd ramparts spread;
Yet long before I pass'd its outer gate,
I saw the work of judgment and of fate.
It seem'd a fearful desert scorch'd and dry,
Spread its brown heath, to meet the wondering eye;
The vanish'd verdure, and the wasted plain,
Disclos'd the march of a devouring train,
Before whose face the earth was green and fair,
Behind a wilderness all parch'd and bare;
The pining herds, a poor and piteous train,
Sought their accustom'd food, but sought in vain; Some wild with anguish rang'd the mountain's side,
Some stood despairing in the meadows wide;
And some with wasted flesh, and panting breath,
Sunk gazing, mute and motionless in death.
And when I saw, my soul with grief was cleft,
For sinful man, to Heaven's displeasure left;
And low to earth, I bent my mournful head,
Like one who mourns his dearest comfort dead.
"My God! I cry'd, my God! arise and see
Thy judgments, and thy people's misery;
The sick land mourns, the haughty sinners pine,
Thy wrath devours without, and guilt within.
Ah! who shall now their wasted strength repair,
If thou hast cast them, ever from thy care?"
An answering voice was heard—it spake to me;
God spake from Heav'n—"This judgment shall not be."
I rose with transport from my deep distress,
And as I journey'd on, his name did bless.
Soon nature's languid form, reviving fair,
Sang praises to the God who answers prayer;
The host of worms, that cover'd all the ground,
Vanish'd away, no longer to be found;
Spread forth each curling leaf, and withering stem,
The faded bud disclos'd its secret gem;
The naked earth her vivid robes assum'd,
And fragrant scents the summer gales perfum'd.
But yet a little while the glittering blade,
Of Heavn's displeasure, in its sheath was stay'd,
A flame succeeds, its furious ravage spread,
By wrath first kindled, and by justice fed:
So wide it rag'd, that scarce its quenchless sweep,
Would heed the limits of the watry deep.
Ah! who shall stay its force, or crush its power?
Our God—preserve us in this awful hour!
Again I pray'd, and wept, and deeply mourn'd:
"This also shall not he," the same dread voice return'd.
Repent—Repent! ye rebel race! I cry'd;
Go, mourn, and seek your God, ye sons of pride;
At that dread name, with fearful rev'rence bend,
Ye sinful seed of Abraham, his friend.
Ye scorn the stranger, on the poor ye press,
Ye wound the widow, and the fatherless,
Ye scoff at justice, every sin ye know,
And give to idols, what to God ye owe;
Scorn and contempt, upon his laws ye cast,
And think ye to escape his righteous wrath at last.
Stain'd with your guilt, the page of fate unrolls,
Its crimson lines shall enter to your souls;
Captivity and pain, its records shew,
Deep lamentation, mourning, tears, and woe.
Your palace shakes! a sword in life-blood dy'd,
Is drawn all reeking from your prince's side:
The sounds of treason clamour in the air,
Murder, and strife, and foul revolt are there:
Yet woes on woes shall tread, and pity weeps
O'er your fall'n city, and your slaughter'd heaps.
O ye, who sink in couches, soft with down,
And all your crimes in wine and music drown,
Who wrest the garment from the shiv'ring poor,
And snatch his pittance, to increase your store;
You, first the plagues and wants of war shall vex,
The captive yoke shall hang upon your necks,
And you shall groan in servitude and scorn,
As one who sorrows o'er his dead first-born.
O sinful nation! of thy God accurst,
Thy glory gone, and bending to the dust;
The arm that held thee in its fond embrace,
Shall hurl thee forth, to thine appointed place.
Go, hide thee in Mount Carmel—dive the deep;
Go, seek the slimy cells, where serpents creep,
Make thro' the earth's dark dens, thy secret path,
Thou canst not shun the purpose of his wrath!
"But who art thou?" The haughty ones reply'd,
"Presumptuous man!" with frantic rage, they cry'd,
"Flee to your woods, your mountains, and your flocks,
Go, drive your few sheep on the ragged rocks;
Who bade thee, herdman, leave thy wand'ring throng?
Who made thee judge of violence and wrong?"
"He who beheld me at my humble toil,
Content and cheerful, in my native soil;
He who perceives you, from the frowning skies,
And all your rage and impotence defies;
He call'd me from my flock and pastures fair,
He gave the message which I boldly bear;
And which I bear 'till death: so spend your ire,
And wreak what vengeance your mad souls desire.
Say, whose strong arm compos'd this wond'rous frame?
Who quench'd the fury of the rushing flame?
Who fill'd with spacious orbs, the empty space?
Who made the mighty sun to know his place?
Who hung upon the cloud the dazzling bow?
Who from his cistern, bade the waters flow?
Who turneth light to darkness, night to death?
Who giveth life, and gathereth back the breath?
Who drives thro' realms immense, his flaming car?
To visit Orion, and the morning star?
Who gave this pond'rous globe, with nicest care,
To balance lightly on the fluid air?
Who rais'd the mountains to their lofty height?
Who speeds the whirlwind in its trackless flight?
Who darts thro' dark disguise, his piercing ken,
To read the secret thoughts and ways of men?
Who gave the morning and the midnight birth?
Whose muffled step affrights the trembling earth?
Who bound the sea, and touch'd the rocks with flame?
The Lord, the God of Hosts, is his tremendous Name."