Lit Come Follow Me: D&C —Joseph Smith History 1

Historical sketch of the Life of President Joseph Smith

CHAPTER SECOND

Vermont, a land much fam’d for hills and snows
And blooming trees, may boast the honor of

The Prophets birth-place.

Ere ten Summer’s suns

Had bound their wreath upon his youthful brow,

His father with his family remov’d;

And in New York, Ontario County, since

Call’d Wayne, selected them a residence;

First in Palmyra, then in Manchester.

Religion was the fashion of the day—

Religious vot’ries and religious sects,

From time to time, like bees in Summer, swarm’d.

In Manchester a great excitement rose,

And multitudes of converts join’d themselves

Unto the sects; and Joseph’s tender mind

Was deeply and most solemnly impress’d

With the importance of eternal things.

But then, amid the strange confusedness

Of cleric strifes and proselyting schemes,

His mind was left to wander in the dark

Impenetrable maze of doubt and deep

Anxiety; to ascertain the one

Of all the various sects, that God approv’d.

The recklessness of childhood was but just

Diverging into youth—his tender years

Were yet unripen’d with the radiance of

His fifteenth Summer’s sun.

“Which way is right?”

Was the inquiry of his anxious mind;

When loud as though an angel’s whisper came

Upon the breeze, a clear suggestion spoke

With more than mortal meaning, to his heart—

“If any man lack wisdom, let him ask

Of God who giveth lib’rally to all,

Upbraiding not.”

All human aid was vain—

No earthly counsel could avail him aught;

And in his heart he purpos’d to obtain

The wisdom from above.

One beauteous morn,

When not a cloud was seen to hover o’er

The broad horizon—when the vernal sun

Pour’d his reviving rays on Natures crest,

Already deck’d with sweetly scented flowers—

He sought retirement in the woodland shade;

In secret there to lift his heart and voice

To God, in prayer. In all his life before,

He had not shap’d his thoughts and his desires

For vocal supplication. In the depth

Of nature’s wild retreat—where secrecies

Of thought pour’d forth, could only reach the ear

Of Him to whom the secrets of all hearts

Are known—he spread the burthen of his soul

Before the Lord. He scarce had bow’d himself

In humble posture, when, with iron grasp

A power invisible laid hold on him.

His prayer was interrupted, for his tongue

Was suddenly in speechless silence chain’d.

Thick atmospheric darkness gather’d round—

Destruction seem’d inevitable, and

Into the deep recesses of his heart

Despair was fastening its poison’d barb.

Then, with a mighty effort of his mind,

He rais’d his struggling heart to God, and sought

Deliverance from above; when suddenly

A pillar, brighter than the noon-day sun,

Precisely o’er his head, descending, fell

Around him; and he felt himself unbound

And liberated from the terrors of

The strong, unearthly grasp with which he was

Most fearfully enchain’d.

No sooner had

The glory from on high around him shone,

And the demoniac grasp disappear’d, than

He saw two glorious personages stand

Above him in the air; surrounded with

The light that had envelop’d him. With joy,

Wrapt in astonishment, he heard himself

Address’d. Address’d by whom? Address’d by what?

Was that indeed a voice he heard; or was

Imagination, with its frenzied harp,

Playing upon the organs of his mind?

Was that the speech of fancy which he heard?

And was it the soft echo of the strains

Of phantom-music on his ear? And were

The glorious figures which he saw, the forms

Of airiness and wild delusive thought?

O no: the heavens had verily unfurl’d

The sable curtain which defines the bounds

’Twixt earth and immortality; and he

Was gazing on celestials, and he heard

The voice of the Eternal.

One of the

Bright personages whom he saw referr’d

Him to the other, and address’d him thus,

“Joseph, this is my well beloved Son,

Hear him.”

To know his duty, was indeed

The burthen of his mind—the theme of all

His soul’s solicitude. Accordingly,

No sooner had he got possession of

Himself, with power to speak, than he inquir’d,

“Which of the sects is right?” for yet the thought

That all were wrong, had not occurr’d to him.

And what was his astonishment, to hear

The being who address’d him, say, “None of

The various sects are right; and all their Creeds

Are an abomination in my sight.”

He said that the professing world was all

Corrupt. “They with their lips draw near to me,

And while their hearts are far away, they teach

For doctrines the commandments of mankind.

They have the form of godliness, but they

Deny the power thereof.”

A second time

He said to Joseph that he should not join

Himself to any sect. Much else was said;

And then the heavens were curtain’d from his view.

With all the frankness, and simplicity,

And unsuspecting nature of his young

And inexperienc’d heart; like Paul of old,

He soberly declar’d the novel fact—

Novel to modern ears—that he had seen

A heavenly vision; and the consequence

Fell heavy on him!

Did those Christian friends,

Whose pious zeal had prompted them before,

To proffer him a fostering guardianship,

Approach him then, with hearts—with bosoms, warm

With charity and tenderness? Did those

Professing to believe the record of

The visions, prophecies, and gifts of Saints

In ancient times; rejoice with him to hear

That God was still the same to answer prayer—

To open heaven, and show the secrets of

Eternity? Ah! no. the very fact

That he had seen a vision, broke the bond

Of friendship; and an awful avalanche

Of persecution fell upon him, hurl’d

By the rude blast of cleric influence!

Contempt, reproach, and ridicule were pour’d,

Like thunderbolts, in black profusion, o’er

His youthful head; as if to blast the bud

Of character—to wither reputation, ere

It could be strengthen’d by maturing years.

And all for what? Ah! wherefore all this aim

Of high and low, to strike a blow at one

So young, so innocent, and so obscure?

Because that he, in faith and confidence,

Pray’d unto God, and God had heard his prayer;

And, faithful to His promise as in times

Of old, had pour’d the blessings out to him

According to his faith. Such was his crime—

Such was the character of that misdeed

Which the religious world reported such.

But what avail’d the malice of the world

With him? He’d seen a heavenly vision, and

Had heard the voice of Him who does not lie;

And all the powers of darkness, speaking through

The human tongue, could never teach him to

Unknow what he authentically knew

His eyes had seen—his ears had heard—he’d felt

The power of the Eternal Deity.

How sweet the joys of conscious innocence:

How peaceful is the calm within the breast,

When conscience speaks in approbative tones

Softer than notes that swell the harpsichord,

And testifies within, that all is well

With what a noble, heavenly feeling does

The bosom swell; and how composedly

The spirit rests and feels secure from all

“The strife of tongues;” reposing on the firm,

Immovable, unchangeable defence—

The bulwark of the favor of the Lord.