Cry of the Martyrs

BY P. P. PRATT.

Hark!-the sound of many voices mingling Priests, and praying friends, too oft betrayed them,

Their feeble cries like the groans of myriads But how could these in conscience [conscience] kill such men,

Of expiring insects, ascends [ascends] the skies And all for their religion and their faith:

In solemn music. While the wide expanse Ah, this, (themselves the judge) they never did.

Of heavens' courts re echoes with the sound: They first accused them, charged with various

Its strains tho' mournful, sad, and solemn are Crimes, belied and slandered; then for justice

Powerful and mighty, and dignified, Cried: and thus distroyed [destroyed] them, in holy zeal for God:

And grand, and sublime: and fill all heaven, And vainly thought to do him service.

As the sound of many waters; or as

The voice of a great thunder; rending the But hark.-That piercing cry still tingles in

Skies; startling the angels; and penetrating My ears, and fills my very heart with grief

The hearts of the Gods: thrilling every nerve What are their words that burn, with might and power

And kindling the flame of justice in each To pain both heaven and earth and all that hear?

Holy bosom.-And whose voices are these?

"How long, O Lord! holy and true, dost thou

They are the voices of ancient martyrs Not judge and avenge our blood on them that

Who were slain for the witness of Jesus; Dwell on earth?"

And for the word of their testimony.

Yes-crucified, beheaded, sawn asunder, Are these the awful words? And what reply

Burned, torn by wild beasts; betrayed, shot, Is given by the avenging heavens?

Hung, boiled, roasted, imprisoned, starved, and BE PATIENT-O ye martyred souls and wait

Tortured in ten thousand nameless ways. Till your fellow servants who are to be

killed in like manner shall be fulfilled.

And who, so cruel, or so hard in heart

As to afflict these blessed martyrs thus? WAIT-till Missouri's plains are soaked in blood

Perchance some demon from the courts of Hell Of innocence, and the souls of Latter day Saints

In human form arrayed, alone performed it? Mingle their cries with yours for vengeance on

Or if by human aid it must have been The earth. Wait, the plains of Illinois,

Some low degraded heathen-cannibal, And the walls of Carthage, are soaked with

Trained from his youth to feed on human flesh. The blood of Martyred prophets, whose cries

Or tell me, where such wretches could be found? Ascend to heaven for vengeance on a mob.

Alas, I blush to own the truth, and yet Myself a man.

These were their PRAYING FRIENDS; Wait-till the last vestige of civil and

Their fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, Religious liberty shall expire in

And neighbors. Ah too oft their fellow christians, The bosom of a boasting nation, whose

In name, but not in spirit. Yes, pious Rulers mock the cries of Justice,

And laugh at the prayers of the oppressed.

Wait till then; but wait no longer.-You have

The answer.

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