A Poem on the Suffering of the Saints in Missouri

By Joel H. Johnson

Why do the Heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing, the rulers take counsel together, against the Lord, and against his anointed. He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh; the Lord shall have them in derision. And break them with a rod of iron; and dash them in peices [pieces] like a potters vessel.-David.

No wonder why old David cried. Yes destitute of food and clothes,

"Why do the Heathen rage!" 'Mong strangers seek employ;

When we look round on every side While earthly fiends and hellish foes,

And see them all engage: Still seek them to destroy.

To persecute the saints of God, While some have bled upon their lands,

And take them for a prey; Their testament to seal-

Bind them in chains and shed their blood That they believed in God's commands,

And drive them far away. And what he does reveal.

Their lands and houses left behind, And were resolved t' obey the same,

Thus from their homes are cast; Though hell against them raise;

While Matrons, maids, and infants find And so have died for Jesus, name,

No shelter from the blast. Like saints in ancient days,

No orphans cry, nor widows tear How long O Lord shall men prevail,

Can pity now receive; To kill and drive thy saints?

In weather cold and winter drear, Let not, O God, thy promise fail,

Their firesides have to leave. But hear thou their complaints!

And let thy judgments be made known

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Until oppression cease, And now we do thy promise claim

And wickedness shall all be gone, And will not give the rest;

The earth be filled with peace. Until thou dost fulfill the same,

And make thy people bles't.

For thou hast promised in thy word

That when the wicked rage,

And press upon them like a flood,

Thou woulds't for them engage.