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the weeping prophet.
THE WEEPING PROPHET.4
WOE, woe is me for my dear country's sin!
Woe, that a prophet's torch was given to me
To hold up, hid God's shadowing light within,
Before a people who refuse to see
How guilt draws down that light in burning levin;
How awful is the purity of heaven.

A boy among the hills of Anathoth
I saw the visionary caldron seethe,
The almond-tree its ominous blossoms wreathe,
In token that a righteous God was wroth
With Israel, and in judgment would condemn
The city of His love, Jerusalem.

To be his messenger of wrath I shrank:
I cried, "O Lord, I am a child, so weak!
Who bears a curse, none give God-speed, or thank."
Then did He touch my lips, His words I speak;
And, knowing that His eyes are on the truth,
I cannot answer evil ways with ruth.