Since the Old Testament is so long, each lesson covers much more material, making it much harder to have overall themes for the lesson. As a result, each lesson tends to be more episodic, covering a broad range of topics. This lesson is like that, covering everything from righteous desires, to Melchizedek, to tithing. I don’t think any teacher should try to cover it all in one lesson.

Since most gospel topics fit under the theme of righteousness, these topics are grouped under that theme, along with the story of Abraham and his family.

 

God will bless me for my faith and righteous desires.

Righteousness is based on our desires and motivations more than on what we do, because what we do follows our desires. The following poem looks at what it means when we focus on righteous desires.

 

Composed for Mrs. Patty Sessions

by Eliza R. Snow

Truth and holiness and love,

Wisdom, honor, joy and peace—

That which cometh from above,

In your pathway shall increase.

 

Thus the Spirit of the Lord

In your bosom shall abide;

And produce a rich reward,

While the “still small voice” shall guide.

 

Faith and holy confidence,

That will bear your spirit up,

Shall henceforward recompense

All the bitter of your cup.

 

Righteous are your heart’s desires,

And they will not be denied;

But our Father oft requires

That our patience shall be tried.

 

Though He should at times withhold

Longer than your hopes expect:

You’ll receive a double fold

When His wisdom shall direct.

 

Therefore, let your spirit rest—

God will order all things well;

And ere long you will be blest

More than human speech can tell.

 

And the Lord Himself will spread

Thro’ your heart a holy pride

Of your chosen earthly head,

Your companion by your side.

 

Mutual shall your blessings be—

Mutual joys shall crown your way:

Thus in time:—Eternity

Opens to a brighter day.

1847 (published 1885)

 

God wants me to make and keep covenants with Him.

I have the impression that it’s only recently that LDS culture has focused on the idea that there are multiple covenants, instead of one new and eternal covenant. Of course, there are multiple times when we make covenants with God—Baptism, Sealing, the ordinances in the Temple. The following poem looks at a time when we make a kind of covenant: Birth. We are born in the covenant, and progress on to additional covenants.

 

Motherhood

by Sarah E. Hadley Pearson

The link that bound my spirit to its clay,

Half broken, rested in the palm of God.

Through sufferings so great I sank—and lay—

It seemed that earth for me had no more day;

My feet press nevermore its flints of gray;

The very memory of it slid away.

My ego floated far on sunset ray—

Prone, the abandoned, almost pulseless cold.

 

When lo! from earth-bound solitudes, a cry,

So piercing sweet, I knew my heaven was there!

My baby’s voice could draw me from the sky,

His tiny arms arrest my flight on high,

And roseleaf touches claim their lullaby.

Raised from the lethargy of death, I sigh

My feeble life-plea. God will not deny

When offered with its double meed of prayer.

 

Soft, fragrant breaths fan, pulsing on my hair,

My pallid cheek grows warm with life’s red wine;

And stiffened lips essay to voice a prayer

Of praise. O heart so fully free from care!

O feet so light that I could tread on air!

(Dear angels hover close my bliss to share).

Child of the Covenant, in my arms I bear

The world triumphant, when mine eyes meet thine.

 

O orbs divine! so clear, and yet so deep;

So full of light, yet so inscrutable;

O pools of living color, warmth and sleep—

How all my pulses to thy gaze do leap!

Mystic, half-memories through thy glances creep,

My heritage from God, to have and keep.

My pain’s forgot—’tis rapture makes me weep,

My Babe, my gift from source immutable!

 

Roll from my cheek, thou tear! No briefest space

Would I be blinded to my present bliss;

My pinnacle of womanhood—the grace

Which shone with motherhood on Mary’s face.

Close may I hold thee but a little space,

My man-child, God will want thee, take thy place,

And in his name perpetuate the race,—but now,

Drink love of me with mother’s milk and kiss.

 

Slumber, my baby, through the velvet span

Of dewy night, to meet thy first sweet dawn.

I, steeped in reverie, review the plan

Formed by the Gods who first created man.

And, thinking, sleep; and, sleeping, dream that we,

In clouds of pearl and amber seem to see

The Christ-child cradled on his mother’s knee.

He calls to us—we kneel in ecstasy!

Then look again—the forms are gone.

 

The Angel of His Presence stands between,

White stones in silver bows, are in his hand.

Behind him, shimmering as a vale to screen,

A glory of reflected light is seen

From Zenith to the far horizon’s sheen.

He turns on us a look both kind and keen;

Smiles as I clasp you to my heart and lean

To look through seer-stones into future lands.

 

Trembling, I peer down the dim aisle of years—

The narrow path shows rugged in the gloom.

The Man of Sorrows far ahead appears,—

Ofttimes the glow around him warms and cheers,

And lifts the pall of untried, nameless fears.

We gather for him flowers washed by tears.

Close to the shore we hear vast surges boom;—

Far off,a Land of Rest faint stars illume.

 

And then One Star, in the o’er-arching dome,

Glitters adown the waste of waters wild;

Reflects its radiance in the crested comb;

Showers broken diamond flashes ‘mid the foam;

Our Star of Bethlehem, Celestial Home!

Beneath its rays, to us serene and mild,

In quivering brightness, pure and undefiled,

Walk hand in hand, young mother and young child.

 

And still I gaze. Years pass. Joy, grief and change:

Mother and child no more together play

With leaves of grass and bubbles. In a way

We have changed places, and his noon of day

Finds sown in me earth-symptoms of decay.

My strong young shoulders, all too willingly,

Have borne their burden. Bittersweet and strange

To lean where I have led. And the wide range

Of deep devotion, unremitting care,

Of passionate protection, lavished free

Upon my offspring, now returns to me.

Mature in years, more understandingly,

My love, unselfish, symbols Deity.

Darling, your eyes are holden, but I see;

Forgiven, sleep I through Gethsemane

Alone, as God intended it to be. . . .

Vibrant to thousands is his “Follow me.”

. . . . . .

Soft, angel-fingers swift my eyelids press—

My dream is broken. Dawn, like a caress,

Mounts high and bright, a new-born babe to bless.

We wake to meet its ambient tenderness.

. . . . . .

Christ reigns in Heaven; yet, just today he seems

For thy sake, baby mine, sweet Mary’s Boy,

Tiny and flawless dimpling in his dreams;

Celestial aura softly round him gleams;

In Mary’s eye a pensive gladness beams.

O life—O grave—O mysteries unsolved—

O destiny, with Mary’s Child involved—

O depth of mother-grief, and heights of joy!

 

Cherub of mine, when manhood’s mantle falls

Upon thy shoulders, and thy smooth, white brow

Furrows with thought and care—when Jesus calls,

“Brother, take up thy burden for my sake,

To earth-life opportunities awake!

Use thou thy talents, and thy record make,

I love thee, and would share with thee my all.”

Will you then hear his voice and heed his call?

 

Could I but know you will be true and brave,

Hold fast the anchor that his woe has won,

And realize his priceless life he gave

That we be parted not beyond the grave—

So meek to suffer, and so great to save—

‘Tis love of him and love for me I crave, . . .

When the last thread of grass-and-gold be spun,

Last service rendered, and new life begun.

 

Beyond the reaches of the setting sun—

Were I enthroned, ‘mid stars above the blue,

My loving heart were calling, calling you,

Till you cry, Mother! and I answer, Son!

‘Tis not on couch of roses, but your breast,

With all its filial fervor to be pressed,

Would I account myself supremely blest;

Could I forget earth’s agony—and rest.

 

Nor could I face thee, Lord, without my gift

Had doubled to thy glory; nor could stand

By loved ones gone before, with empty hand,

Had I proved recreant, on my brow the brand

Of an unfaithful mother. Could all Heaven

Fill empty arms that lost the Treasure given

Through mine own folly? Even though forgiven,

Where is my glory? Heaven were not for me

Could I not add, and share, and say, with Thee,—

Surrounded by Thy flock for God to see:—

“LO, THESE ARE THEY WHOM THOU HAST GIVEN ME!”

1911

 

“Melchizedek was a man of faith.”

Melchizedek is one of the least-known figures in the Bible, and he doesn’t really appear in any LDS poetry that I can find. But the Melchizedek Priesthood is certainly something that shows up. This poem is the earliest example I found,

 

In ancient days men fear’d the Lord

by William W. Phelps

In ancient days men fear’d the Lord,

And by their faith receiv’d his word,

Then God bestow’d upon the meek,

The Priesthood of Melchizedek.

By help of this their faith increas’d,

Till they with God spoke face to face:

An Enoch, he would walk with God;

A Noah ride safe o’er the flood.

Abr’ham obtain’d great promises,

And Isaac he was also blest,

A Jacob could prevail with God;

The sea divide at Moses’ rod.

The lions’ mouth a Daniel clos’d,

The fire near scorch’d his brethren’s clothes,

But time would fail to mention all

The men of faith, I’ll just name Paul.

Who did, to the third heav’ns, arise,

And view the wonders of the skies;

He saw and heard, mysterious things,

Yet all by faith, and not by wings.

Such blessings to the human race,

Once more are tender’d by God’s grace;

The Priesthood is again restor’d,

For this let God be long ador’d.

Now we by faith, like Paul and John,

May see the Father and the Son,

And view eternal things above,

And taste the sweets of boundless love.

And if, like them, we hated be,

Depriv’d sometimes of liberty,

We will like them, this faith defend,

What’er our fate, unto the end.

O Lord assist thy feeble worms,

This resolution to perform,

And we thy sacred name will praise,

Throughout the remnant of our days.

1835

 

Abraham paid tithing.

The story that Abraham paid tithing is another less-known bible story, but also one that I haven’t found in poetry. The following poem talks about tithing in a very different context — but also a different context from what we see today.

 

The Christmas Tithing

by Augusta Joyce Crocheron

‘Twas near the happy Christmas time,

And all the country roads,

Were strung along with teams that drew

Full, high and plenteous loads;

The “Mormon” farmers bringing in

Their tithing for the year;

O, ’twas a sight to cheer the eyes,

A pleasant sound to hear.

 

With willing hands they brought to Him

The tenth of what was given,

And knew His blessing would again

Unloose the stores of heaven.

The sacks of wheat and flour by which

The “temple hands” were fed,

The sweet dried fruits and honey comb

And apples, gold and red,

The barrels filled with syrups pure,

Butter and creamy cheese,

Fluttering poultry—what poor men

Were ever served like these?

 

Yet not alone for “temple hands,”

These tithings all were brought,

In ev’ry Ward (ignoring creeds)

The poor and sad are sought,

Their names are learned and ev’ry one

On Bishop’s list enrolled,

For each are gen’rous baskets filled

And, measured wood and coal;

And busy men step in and out,

As the tithing wagons go

Out through the gate to every Ward

Their portion to bestow.

 

O, once I went to many homes,

And happy scenes were they,

There busy worked the wives to get

All done for Christmas day;

For romping boys, were newly made

Full suits of Provo goods,

For little girls, light wollen plaids,

And pretty home-made hoods.

 

I saw the laborer’s sickly child

With dainty food was fed,

As fresh and pure as e’er before

The epicure was spread.

No happier driver takes a load,

Wher’er the things may go,

Than he who carries to the poor

On Christmas eve—through snow.

For well he knows, how eyes that closed

Expecting naught, shall wake,

And find a joyous Christmas gift,

And bless him for its sake.

 

The many blessings tithing brings,

Not you or I can count,

The little tenth from each one swells

To rich and large amount.

O, blessings on the heart that gives

The duty that it owes,

And praise His love who made the law,

That like a river flows.

Through all our mountains and our vales,

Relieving first, the poor;

And writes the giver’s name in lines

Forever shall endure.

1885

 

God hears me.

The idea that God hears us is central to LDS thought—connected to the idea of revelation and our understanding of God. And the concept appears in the earliest LDS poetry, such as the following from The Millennium, the first volume of LDS poetry ever published.

 

Signs of the Times

By Parley P. Pratt

Lift up your heads, ye scattered saints,

Redemption draweth nigh;

Our Saviour hears the orphans’ plaints’;

The widow’s mournful cry.

 

The blood of those who have been slain

For vengeance cries aloud:

Nor shall its cries ascend in vain,

For vengeance on the proud.

 

The signs in heaven and earth appear;

And blood, and smoke, and fire;

Men’s hearts are failing them for fear;

Redemption’s drawing nigher.

 

Earthquakes are bellowing ‘neath the ground,

And tempests through the air;–

The trumpet’s blast with fearful sound,

Proclaims the alarm of war.

 

The saints are scattered to and fro,

Through all the earth abroad;

The gospel trump again to blow,

And then behold their God.

 

Rejoice, ye servants of our God,

Who to the end endure;

Rejoice, for great is your reward,

And your defence is sure.

 

Although this body should be slain

By cruel, wicked hands;

I’ll praise my God in higher strains,

And on Mount Zion stand.

 

Glory to God, ye saints rejoice,

And sigh and groan no more;

But listen to the spirit’s voice;

Redemption’s at the door.

1840