One advantage to providing the poetry for these lessons early is that it allows teachers and others a little time to adjust the timing of lessons. For example, this coming week’s lesson in Sunday School should be on the Family (see last week’s post), but given that the coming lesson is on the Sunday before Christmas, teachers might want to substitute this lesson instead, a lesson on Christ the Sunday before Christmas seems like a much better fit, in my opinion.

And, I think this week I will even limit my comments—I’m not sure I can add much to the poetry. I’m happy to say that our poetic tradition includes a lot of poetry about Christ, and what I’m sharing below is in addition to the many poems about Christ already shared during the year for various lessons. Nevertheless, these poems include some of our major authors — Orson F. Whitney, Nephi Anderson and either William W. Phelps or Parley P. Pratt (no one is sure which one wrote the poem), as well as a thoughtful poem from the place that makes many people there think about what really matters — the foxhole.

 

“None other has had so profound an influence.”

Nephi Anderson, author of Added Upon, the Castle Builder and Dorian, was the first popular author of LDS culture. Added Upon itself is the “OG” of the ‘plan-of-salvation’ genre, which is unique to LDS literature. Here he plays with the idea of Christ’s royal heritage, but claiming “Nay, ’tis grander thing / To see humility in so great a king!”

 

The Visit of the King

by Nephi Anderson

From out the realms of space celestialized,

A royal prince of heaven’s family came

To earth — this earth, poor sin bound, darkened globe.

O, blessed tale oft told. To mortal man

Of wondrous deeds it is the most sublime.

How He from home of shining element,

Of it took none, but came in garb and place

Not oft in lowness reached by human race.

Behold, the sky is fill’d with light of star,

And music made by angel voices clear!

All nature seems to thrill with joy profound

Because Her King has come; but man sleeps on

Unmindful of it all. ‘Tis naught to him

That a lowly babe is born in Bethlehem.

Judea, Asia, Earth, if thou’dst but known

Thy Savior when He came unto H is own!

A child, a boy amid the humblest walks.

A man. a weary pilgrim on the earth.

No place to rest His head; about He went

Upon His father’s business — doing good,

Feeding the hungry multitude with bread

Not all of earth — and then was lifted up

“By kin to die, praying, “Father forgive.”

They did Him slay, He died that they might live.

Lo! forth from sepulchre of graven stone

The prince of light and life doth come; and where

The waters of blue Galilee doth lap

The sands on which He’d often trod, He stood.

There had he fire kindled; fish and bread

To weary, downcast followers He gave.

Communed He with the fishers as of old

And sent them forth as guardians of His fold.

Would ye not think that He who’d o’ercome all;

Who down to lowest depths of nether hell

Had gone, and upward fought his way ag iin,

Breaking the bondsmen’s chain, triumphing o’er

The diresome gates of death and hell, had sat

On regal throne; while pomp and show of courts

Had waited on him? Nay, ’tis grander thing

To see humility in so great a king!

Back to His Father’s mansions He ascends.

Ethereal space He cleaves, and like a robe

His former glory dons, still brighter now.

And earth, He left thee as a heritage

His blood; within thy soil it rests, and sends

To heaven a smoking incense for thy sins.

Yet sleep no more, remember sons of men,

That as He went, so shall He come again.

1895

 

“He rose from the grave.”

Logically, the biggest stumbling block to belief in Christ is the idea of resurrection. While we have examples of great teachers, those starting great movements, and those showing great compassion, we don’t have good, clear examples of those who have risen from the dead. But this idea is central to our understanding of Christ as well as our understanding of what He has done for us. This poem, more an Easter poem than a Christmas one since it talks of resurrection rather than birth, reminds me of another Easter hymn, #199 in our current hymnal, “He Is Risen!”

 

Resurrection

by Estelle Webb Thomas

“He is risen! He is risen!”

In the glory of the morn

From the tomb’s engulfing prison,

Christ, the Savior, was reborn.

 

And the earth, in happy token,

Springs recurrent, from the tomb,

Winter’s leaden spell is broken

In a burst of leave and bloom.

 

May we not the symbol borrow,

As earth’s miracles unroll,

Rise from out all sin and sorrow

In an Easter of the soul!

1935

 

“His priesthood and His Church have been restored.”

The restoration is another common subject for LDS poetry. This example by Reuben McBride, meant to be sung as a hymn, is as much a tribute to Joseph Smith (whose birthday is December 23rd, FWIW), as it is a recognition of the importance of the restoration alongside the role of Christ.

 

Verses

by Reuben McBride

The glorious day has usher’d in,

By prophets long fortold;

The eternal truths of God reveal’d

As were in days of old.

Chorus–A prophet’s voice is heard again,

What glorious news has come!

Come oh! my people saith the Lord,

Come Israel, gather home.

 

A veil of darkness has been spread,

For many hundred years;

Behold! an angel breaks the spell;

To Joseph he appears.

Chorus–A prophet’s voice &c.

 

The Priesthood is again restored,

Oh! how our hearts expand;

Yes we by faith the veil may rend,

And in his presence stand.

Chorus–A prophet’s voice &c.

 

The priesthood will again restore,

Our friends who are dead and gone;

As Saviours we may be to them,

In the Celestial morn.

Chorus–A prophet’s voice &c.

 

That charity which never fails,

Will yet our kindred free;

Hosannah! let our heir’s rejoice,

How great our joys will be,

Chorus–A prophet’s voice &c.

 

Arise and build the House of God,

Bring all your treasures, too,

Your tithes and offerings ne’r forget;

And gather to Nauvoo.

Chorus–A prophet’s voice &c.

 

A blessing we may then receive,

Our souls can ne’r retain,

When Christ again aveils his face,

In his own house again.

Chorus–A prophet’s voice &c.

1845

 

 

“He will someday return to earth.”

Matching the restoration  in prevalence in LDS poetry is the theme of the second coming. Somehow this poem’s authorship got confused, and it is no longer certain which of two prolific LDS hymn writers, W. W. Phelps or Parley P. Pratt, wrote it.

 

Prepare for His Coming

by W. W. Phelps or P. P. Pratt

Let all the saints their hearts prepare:

Behold, the day is near,

When Zion’s King shall hasten there,

And banish all their fear;

Fill all with peace and love,

And blessings from above,

His church with honors to adorn,

The church of the first born.

 

Behold, he comes on flying clouds,

And speeds his way to earth,

With acclamations sounding loud,

With songs of heav’nly birth.

The saints on earth will sing,

And hail their heav’nly King:

All the redeem’d of Adam’s race

In peace behold his face.

 

Before his face devouring flames

In awful grandeur rise;

The suff’ring saints he boldly claims.

And bears them to the skies:

While earth is purified

In peace they all abide,

And then descend to earth again,

Rejoicing in his reign.

 

A thousand years in peace to dwell;

The earth with joys abound,

Made free from all the pow’rs of hell,

No curse infect the ground.

From sin and pain releas’d

The saints abide in peace;

And all creation here below

Their King and Savior know.

1834

 

“He is the light, the life, and the hope of the world.”

Perhaps the most sophisticated of our poets who have also become Apostles, Orson F. Whitney largely turned away from the introspective and personal poetry popularized by the romantic movement, in favor of poetry that depicted important events and ideas, especially major doctrinal concepts and epic stories, like the following poem and like his epic poem, Elias. I must admit that I am glad he does so, since I think poetry is impoverished when it is reduced to one type, to just the personal.

 

A Christmas Idyl

by Orson F. Whitney

I

In solemn council sat the Gods.

From Kolob’s height supreme,

Celestial light blazed forth afar

O’er countless Kokaubeam.

Reflected whence fell radiant gleams

Of that resplendent day,

Far down the dark abysmal realm

Where Earth in chaos lay.

 

Rapt silence reigned. The hour was one

When Thought doth most avail.

The destiny of worlds unborn

Hung trembling in the scale.

A hush profound-and there uprose,

Those Kings and Priests among,

A Pow’r sublime, than whom appeared

None mightier ‘mid the throng.

 

A stature mingling strength and grace,

Of meek though godlike mien,

The lustre of whose countenance

Outshone the noonday sheen.

The hair was white as purest foam,

Or frost of Alpine hill.

He spake-attention grew more grave-

The stillness e’en more still.

 

“Father!”-the voice like music fell,

Clear as the murmuring flow

Of mountain streamlet, trickling down

From heights of virgin snow-

“Father,” it said, “since One must die

Thy children to redeem,

Whilst Earth-as yet unformed and void-

With pulsing life shall teem;

 

“And thou, great Michael, foremost fall

That mortal man may be,

And chosen Savior yet must send,

Lo, here am I, send me!

I ask-I seek no recompense,

Save that which then were mine;

Mine be the willing sacrifice,

The endless glory-Thine!”

 

He ceased and sat; when sudden rose

Aloft a towering Form,

Proudly erect as lowering peak

That looms above the storm.

A Presence bright and beautiful,

With eye of flashing fire,

A lip whose haughty curl bespoke

A sense of inward ire.

 

“Give me to go,” he boldly cried,

With scarce concealed disdain,

“And none shall hence, from Heav’n to Earth,

That shall not rise again.

My saving plan exception scorns-

Man’s agency unknown.

As recompense-I claim the right

To sit on yonder Throne!”

 

Ceased Lucifer. The breathless hush

Resumed and denser grew.

All eyes were turned-the general gaze

One common magnet drew.

A moment there was solemn pause-

Then, like the thunder-burst,

Rolled forth from lips Omnipotent,

The words: “I’LL SEND THE FIRST!”

 

Twas done. From congregation vast,

Tumultuous murmurs rose-

Waves of conflicting sound, as when

Two meeting seas oppose.

Twas finished-but the heavens wept-

And still their annals tell

How God’s elect was chosen Christ,

O’er One who fighting fell.

 

II

A stranger star o’er Bethlehem

Shot down its silver ray

Where, cradled in a manger’s fold,

A sleeping infant lay.

Whilst, guided by that finger bright,

The Orient sages bring

Rare gifts of myrrh and frankincense

To hail the new-born King.

 

Oh wondrous grace! Will Gods go down

Thus low that men may rise?

Imprisoned here that Mighty One

Who reigned in yonder skies?

E’en so. Time’s trusty horologe

Now chimes the hour of Noon-

A dying world is welcoming

The Godhead’s gracious boon.

 

He wandered through the faithless world,

A Prince in shepherd’s guise;

He called his scattered flock, but few

The Voice would recognize;

For minds upborne by hollow pride,

Or dimmed by sordid lust,

Ne’er look for kings in beggar’s garb-

For diamonds in the dust.

 

He wept o’er doomed Jerusalem,

Her temples, walls and towers;

O’er palaces where recreant priests

Usurped unhallowed powers.

“I am the Way of Life and Light!”

Alas! twas heeded not-

Ignored Salvation’s message, spurned

The wondrous truths He taught.

 

O bane of damning unbelief!

Thou source of lasting strife!

Thou stumbling-stone, thou barrier ‘thwart

The gates of Endless Life!

O love of self and Mammon’s lust!

Twin portals to Despair-

Where Bigotry, the blinded bat,

Flaps through the midnight air!

 

Through these, gloom-wrapt Gethsemane!

Thy glens of guilty shade

Wept o’er the sinless Son of God,

By gold-bought kiss betrayed;

Beheld him unresisting dragged-

Forsaken, friendless, lone,

To halls where dark-browed Hatred sat

On Judgment’s lofty throne.

 

As sheep before His shearers, dumb,

Those patient lips were mute;

The clamorous charge of taunting tongues

He deigned not to dispute.

They smote with cruel palm His face-

Which felt, but scorned the sting-

They crowned with thorns His quivering brow,

Then, mocking, hailed Him “King!”

 

On Calvary’s hill they crucified

The God whom worlds adore!

“Father, forgive!”-the pang was past-

Immanuel was no more.

No more where thunders shook the earth,

Where lightnings, ‘thwart the gloom,

Beheld that deathless Spirit spurn

The shackles of the tomb!

 

Far flashing on its wings of light-

A falchion from its sheath-

It cleft the realms of Darkness, and

Dissolved the bands of Death.

Hell’s dungeons burst! Wide open swung

The everlasting bars,

Whereby the ransomed soul shall win

Those heights beyond the stars.

1884

 

“God be thanked for [His] matchless gift.”

Regardless of Whitney’s focus on the epic and doctrinal in poetry, there is a place for the personal and introspective, such as the following example, whose title hangs over it’s description of what is learned under stress — kind of like what we believe about the purpose of life.

 

Christmas Card from a Foxhole

by Dott J. Sartori

I send no midnight scene of Bethlehem

Illumined in the distance by the star,

No tinted picture of the peaceful hills

Where sleeping lambs and watchful shepherds are.

No sapphire arc of sky with amber glow

Suffuses color over this white plain,

Yet here is Christ light bright within my thought

To strike the holy note of joy again.

Here He has passed the years of innocence,

Here lies the pathway of His ministry,

Here holds His word the sure, the just reply

To questioning and all adversity.

Here is the written testament of one

Who learned at last the surety that He,

If called upon, will fill the limpest stocking

Which hangs beneath the smallest Christmas tree.

1944