We often hear the phrase “the worth of souls,” but I’m not sure that we focus much on the values behind the idea of ‘worth.’ Much of our modern culture is concerned with how we value each individual — and especially with how the culture values us. Are we getting a fair shake? Are we recognized? How does the culture treat people of my gender, my skin color, my class, and my beliefs? Unfortunately, the culture still usually measures values in dollars and in power, which the gospel has always disputed and dismissed in phrases like “The worth of souls is great.” And even that phrase can mislead us, since the Lord isn’t looking to ‘profit’ from these souls. The very concept of ‘worth’ is different here than how our culture sees things.

The Come Follow Me lesson sees these questions through the gospel. Since the “worth of souls” is great for the Lord, then all He does is about those souls, allowing each one to grow, and accruing the benefits of that growth mainly to each soul itself. His glory is in the immortality and eternal life of each of us.

 

Build up my church.

Despite the romantic idea that organizations are suspicious man-made structures that hurt people, organizations are necessary and useful structures that help us act together and improve both ourselves and the world around us. Even though they can hurt people, since they are made of human beings, organizations can even be divine—the continuing Restoration is of both the Gospel and the Church, and as Eugene England famously pointed out, both are True.

So the suggestion that we build up His church is actually vital today. The following poem talks about the role of Joseph Smith in building up the church. Its author, John Lyon, is one of those early English converts whose influence and creativity added so much to our culture—his volume The Harp of Zion (Liverpool, 1853) was the first volume of LDS poetry published outside of the U.S.  While Lyon had, at the time this was written, never been to any of the locations mentioned, he later immigrated to Utah, becoming one of the most prolific of LDS poets there.

 

The Prophet

by John Lyon

On a mound where the dark Mississippi rolled past

The Prophet gazed sadly o’er Time’s ruthless blast,

In a vision of thought, to that eastern shore

Where Joshua dwelt in his glory of yore.

He thought of the Mussulman’s tyranny there;

Of the scattered condition, the shame, and despair,

Of Abraham’s seed,—when a voice from on high

Said,—”Joseph; give heed, for their freedom is nigh:

“Prepare, for the brand of their infamy’s gone,

“And the hour of redemption for them rolleth on.

“My name is Jehovah, and who shall withstand,

“The sceptre I sway for my seed in that land.

“Go call forth my servant, e’en Orson my son,

“Anoint him, and send him—my work is begun;

“For the hearts of my people are lifted in prayer,

“And my promise of old is awaiting them there.

“Yes, bless him with power, that the land may partake

“By his word all the blessings I have for their sake;

“That his name, as a branch of the old Olive vine,

“May ingraft them in peace, as dear children of mine;

“That the curse of my vengeance may rest upon those

“Who have laughed at their misery, and scorned all their woes.

“Come Joseph, my son, I will give thee the line

“To measure that land for my blessings divine.

“Through thy voice, by my servant, all hearts I’ll control;

“Though the wicked may rage, and the savage may howl,

“Yet, their curse and their rage will but hasten it on,

“And nations will raise up my people, when known,

“To sit in the courts, where their chiefs legislate;

“That their name may be feared, and their power may be great.

“And the riches of nations will flow unto thee,

“That the land may be bought, and my people made free.

“Let Olivet’s mount be the seat of his blessing,

“For his word shall be law to the ruthless oppressing,

“And the hills shall rejoice, and the valleys be glad,

“And thousands shall sing who in anguish were sad,

“And the streets of Jerus’lem, yet, all thronged shall be;

“With the sound of their young men, and maidens with glee;

“And their old men shall live to the age of a tree.

“Shout, Jerusalem, shout, for thy warfare is o’er,

“And the Pagans who’ve spoiled thee, shall spoil thee no more.”

The voice ceased to speak, while the Prophet amazed,

Saw the clouds gather round where in vision he gazed;

And his eye turn’d again where the deep waters rolled,

While he mused on the message which God did unfold.

Sure it was not the torrent that roared as it passed,

Nor the earthquake, nor scream of the hurricane blast,

Nor the fire, nor the thunder’s loud—rumbling roar,

That he heard, when the Angel intelligence bore.

‘Twas as still as the sound of the Zephyr’s mild breeze,

When the soft breath of morn stirs the leaves on the trees.

“Yes, yes,” he exclaimed, “’twas the voice of the Lord,

“And I go, gladly go, to fulfil ev’ry word.”

That mandate’s fulfilled, and long years past and gone

Since that land was restored to old Jacob anon;

And the spirit now burns in the breast of each Jew

To gather, and purchase, and build it anew;

Till Messiah shall come in the brightness of Heaven,

To clothe them with power, and their sins be forgiven.

1853

 

The worth of souls is great in the sight of God.

There may not be a better example of the value of souls to God than the parable of the prodigal son. The following poem re-tells the parable, emphasizing the many people who are in similar positions—positions which exemplify the idea that God values their souls even though the world no longer does.

 

The Prodigal’s Prayer

by Emily H. Woodmansee

Husks, only husks! Oh, for life-giving bread;

Can souls be sufficed if with husks they are fed ?

Than the brute, less support, may humanity need—

But the quality, surely, should differ indeed.

Must I fare as the swine, or from hunger expire?

Alas! ’tis a choice of extremity dire.

For the halls of my father I languish and pine,

The lot of his servants is better than mine;

They have plenty to eat, yea enough and to spare;

While I perish of hunger, of toil and of care.

But I will arise, to my father I’ll go;

I will fall at his feet, I will tell him my woe;

I will say I’m not worthy so noble a sire,

Make me one of thy servants, who labor for hire.

Ah! woe, to the son, should the father not care—

If in anger he turns, from the prodigal’s prayer.

But his father beholds him, towards him has flown—

His arms for protection around him has thrown;

“My father, no more am I worthy to be

Thy son, as a servant I’ll labor for thee.”

But the father has turned to his servants and said—

“In the very best robes, let my son be arrayed;

Put a ring on his hand, and put shoes on his feet;

The fatted calf kill, that my loved one may eat,

And let us be merry, for this, my lost son,

Is restored to my arms, yea, from death, he is won;

‘Tis meet that our welcome, and joy, be profound—

When the dead is restored and the lost one is found.

How many are lost in the darkness of night—

Because there are none, who will read them aright.

Grief, from Indifference, hideth her need;

Hearts torn with anguish, in silence oft bleed.

Too careless, the stranger, to fathom their woe;

And those who should help them, but strike them a blow.

The virtuous, even, are slow to discern

That well timed compassion, and counsel, may turn,

“To righteousness many,” that pity divine,

Will e’en make the giver in glory to shine.

By Propriety’s mill stones, the erring are crushed;

Too often by many who claim to be just;

Who care not the penitent’s sorrow to see;

Who heed not the publican’s pitiful plea.

To the orthodox only, the bigot, unbends;

Distinction must favor the haughty one’s friends;

The hypocrite’s policy, keeps him afar—

From sinners confessed, lest his name he should mar;

And only the Lord hears the cry of despair;

Only the Lord, heeds the prodigal’s prayer.

So the prodigal’s brother, in anger drew near,

And questioned the servants, almost with a sneer;

“Wherefore this feasting, this music and mirth;

Measured with mine, is this renegade’s worth?”

“Son! said the father, why should’st thou repine?

My substance, my all, is assuredly thine.

With me thou art ever, and what would’st thou more?

But my lost and my dead, has returned to my door;

Tis meet that the halls of his father resound—

With feasting and mirth, when the lost one is found.

Which of us ne’er has gone out of the way;

Which of us ne’er had occasion to say—

“My father, I’ve sinned, I am worthy no more.

Thy child to be called, turn me not from thy door?

As a servant, I fain would my faithfulness prove.

Wilt thou only vouchsafe me this proof of thy love?

That yet I may labor, that yet I may be—

Somewhere, or something, belonging to thee ?”

Love’s intuition doth make us to feel,

That love is convincing, and potent to heal.

Where’er love aboundeth, the will it is given—

To excuse and forgive, “even seventy times seven.”

Hear how Jehovah doth sinners invite—

“Though as scarlet your sins, they as wool shall be white;

Come; saith the Lord, let us reason together.

And I will forget your transgressions forever.”

Let us meet the repentant with welcome and cheer—

To encouarge their hopes and to banish their fear.

If we make not a feast let us give them a crust;

Nor drive them again unto hunger and husks.

Though justice is stern, yet our mercy ’twill wait;

If the famished and starving are close at our gate.

When the soul like the body is hungered and cold,

Shall we stop to reprove, and due comfort withhold?

“Lest we kill such with coldness, oh! let us beware,

There are many who echo the prodigal’s prayer

1880

 

The Lord rejoices when I repent.

The value that the Lord places on each soul doesn’t mean that He will not try to change each soul’s behavior for the better. Even though there isn’t profit in it in the way our culture sees value, the Lord still wants each soul — each of us — to improve, increasing our value in His way of seeing worth. So yes, he gives us commandments to guide us and looks for us to repent and change for the better.

The following is one of the early Welsh poems published in Wales in the first non-English LDS periodical. The prevalence of LDS missionaries in England and the relatively large bi-lingual community there made Wales the first foreign language in which LDS missionaries had success, which eventually gave Utah a large community with roots there. Perhaps best known among the Welsh converts was Dan Jones, who was very successful as a missionary there. Unfortunately, we don’t know who wrote this poem — its not signed in the original publication.

 

A Call to Sinners (translation of Galwad ar Bechaduriaid)

by ??, translation by Ronald D. Dennis

OH, SINNERS, turn! repent in time!

With sinning do not dwell nor chime;

Forgiveness seek—God will impart

To humble soul and sorry heart.

The price full-paid upon the tree,

Was paid by Heaven’s Anointed, see!

To clear transgressions small or dire,

To save you from impending fire.

If you obey, you’ll win God’s grace,

Eternal life by his Son’s face:

His blessing’s free, He’s keen that all

Mankind should hearken to his call.

1846

 

Joy comes from helping others come unto Christ.

If souls have value to the Lord, then shouldn’t they also have value to us? This way of seeing people is a core element of why the gospel is at odds with many earthly cultures, which too often see others transactionally, for what they can give us, rather than relationally. Its in building relationships with others that we see the ‘worth of souls.’

Despite the attribution, this poem is more likely a composition of William W. Phelps, who on several occasions took Joseph Smith’s words, especially his revelations, and fashioned poetry out of them. The text comes from Joseph Smith’s revelation on baptism for the dead, found in D&C 128, verses 19 and 22.

Let the Mountains Shout for Joy

by Joseph Smith, Jr.

Now, what do we hear in the Gospel which we have received?

A voice of gladness!

A voice of mercy from heaven;

And a voice of truth out of the earth.

Glad tidings for the dead;

A voice of gladness for the living and the dead;

Glad tidings of great joy.

How beautiful upon the mountains

Are the feet of those that bring glad tidings of good things,

And that say unto Zion:

Behold, thy God reigneth!

As the dews of Carmel,

So shall the knowledge of God descend upon them!

…

Brethren, shall we not go on in so great a cause?

Go forward and not backward.

Courage, brethren; and on, on to the victory!

Let your hearts rejoice, and be exceedingly glad.

Let the earth break forth into singing.

Let the dead speak forth anthems of eternal praise

To the King Immanuel, who hath ordained, before the world was,

That which would enable us to redeem them out of their prison;

For the prisoners shall go free.

Let the mountains shout for joy,

And all ye valleys cry aloud;

And all ye seas and dry lands tell the wonders of your Eternal King!

And ye rivers, and brooks, and rills, flow down with gladness.

Let the woods and all the trees of the field praise the Lord;

And ye solid rocks weep for joy!

And let the sun, moon, and the morning stars sing together,

And let all the sons of God shout for joy!

And let the eternal creations declare his name forever and ever!

And again I say, how glorious is the voice we hear from heaven,

Proclaiming in our ears, glory, and salvation, and honor,

And immortality, and eternal life; kingdoms, principalities, and powers!

1842

 

I can hear the Lord’s voice in the scriptures.

As part of the Lord’s efforts to help us improve, increasing the gospel worth we find in ourselves, he gives us guidance—through the scriptures among elsewhere. And early in Church history the idea of current and continuing revelation was a crucial element of the Church’s teachings inspired several poets.

I don’t know exactly who this Samuel Brown is—there were several in early Church history, including one who participated in Zion’s Camp, and another who served several missions. This is the only poem I’ve found by him.

 

Inspired Writings

by Samuel Brown

Revelations now coming forth,

Are sublime and eternal truth;

In them Jehovah’s voice proclaims,

This is my church, enroll your names.

The word of wisdom’s a sure guide

To all who do the same abide;

Its promises are very great.

Though I the same need not relate.

Enbalmed records, plates of gold,

Glorious things to us unfold;

Though sealed up they long have been,

To give us light they now begin.

Long since to Daniel God did say,

“Seal up the book and go thy way:

For many shall be purified,

By sacrifice they shall be tried.”

A noble man of ancient birth

Beheld the same spring from the earth;

And many more in visions saw

The books which now contain the law.

Judah’s writing and Joseph’s too,

Each testifies the other’s true;

They teach the same when searched thro’.

Believe them both, we’re bound to do.

The Lord hath said “I’ll make them one,

As I command let it be done;

For a short work I now will make,

And Israel from the heathen take.”

“To their own lands on mountains high,

I’ll bring them with a watchful eye;

To them the kingdom I’ll restore

And be their king forever more.

The book of Jasher has been found,

And many more hid in the ground;

All these, with Enoch’s book, unfold

And spread true light from pole to pole.

Those things are true we testify,

And all who do with them comply,

Will in eternity rejoice,

That they have made so wise a choice

1840