The Prophet in Tekoah.

King Jeroboam II was now an old man. The vehemence and determination and aggressiveness that had made him a far-famed conqueror had been mellowed by the years and rarely, if ever, showed themselves.

The note he received from Amaziah regarding Amos, however, awoke the old spirit in him. The dispatch of the section of the royal guard with orders for the Prophet's immediate arrest was in line with the way Jeroboam did things during the days when he personally led his armies.

But instead of having Amos put in chains and thrown into a dungeon, Jeroboam had him brought into his presence. The king wanted to see and speak to the man who, according to Amaziah, had conspired against him and the God of Israel and was proclaiming the doom of his dynasty.

Amos, who had never seen the king face to face, who had never even been inside any of the royal palaces, was, nevertheless, calm and cool as usual. The splendor of the throne room and the crowd of officers and counselors did not in the least affright him. He made a low obeisance to his king and waited for the order to rise.

Jeroboam was a much keener man than Amaziah. When he saw Amos, studied his bearing, the seriousness of his face, the simplicity of his garb, he recognized at once that before him stood an uncommon man.

Amos neither smiled the smirky smile of him who is anxious to get into the king's good graces, nor did he tremble like a coward, who, being caught, feared the king. He waited for Jeroboam to speak.

From the messenger who brought Amaziah's note the king had learned something about Amos and about the things he was telling the people. Having supposed the Prophet to be either a traitor or a madman, but judging him now to be neither one nor the other, Jeroboam now was puzzled as to the manner in which to speak to him.

Jeroboam looked quizzically at Amos for a few moments and began:

"Thou, then, art the Prophet?"

"I am a herdsman and a dresser of sycamore trees," Amos replied.

"But thou speakest evil against the king and against the house of
Israel," exclaimed Jeroboam.

"The Lord God hath commanded me," answered Amos, with deep humility.

"Thou art a traitor and thou shalt die," threatened the king.

"I can but speak," calmly replied Amos, "even if thou slay me."

Jeroboam made the threat to take the Prophet's life in order to test him. He figured that it would send Amos groveling to his knees, begging for mercy. The quiet manner in which he accepted the threat however, puzzled the king. He concluded that Amos must be either exceedingly brave or hopelessly crazy.

Now, a man who is not afraid to die, be he brave or crazy, is a very dangerous man to have around. It would have been easy enough to behead Amos and be done with him, but Jeroboam was not a king who took his subjects' lives ruthlessly—especially when it was so simple to get rid of an undesirable one in another way.

"Then go to thy flocks and sycamores," commanded Jeroboam, "and speak to them."

The king's humorous sally called forth a great shout of laughter from those who were present. Jeroboam, smiling, waved his hand, indicating that the interview was over. The guard closed around Amos and he was led into an outer hall. After a short wait he was informed that, by command of the king, he must leave Bethel on that very day and never set foot in the Kingdom of Israel again.

Had Jeroboam himself been a wicked man like King Ahab, Amos, no doubt, would have disregarded the threat against his life and would have confronted the king in his palace, as Elijah confronted Ahab in Naboth's vineyard. Jeroboam, as ruler, however, did not oppress or mistreat the people. Being an old man, resting on the laurels of his great victories and knowing from his friends and counselors and the size of the royal treasury that his empire was rich and the people peaceful, Jeroboam probably had no idea of the corruption and injustice that was rampant in the land. He would have laughed at the thought of it.

Besides, and this was the important thing with Amos, it would have been folly for him to sacrifice his life at this time. To die a martyr for a cause is a noble and beautiful thing—if martyrdom will in any way advance this cause. To have confronted Jeroboam or to have remained in Bethel would have meant certain death—and, to die then would have meant an end to the crusade that he was just beginning against the oppression of the poor, the denial of justice, the unrighteousness in business dealings and the misunderstanding of God and His worship: it would have meant an end to his set purpose to warn Israel against Assyria, the enemy approaching from the North, and against the inability to meet this enemy, because of the immorality that was weakening the nation.

He had plenty of time to think this over as he wended his way mournfully out of the busy and joyful thoroughfares of Bethel to his quiet, though beloved Tekoah.

Amos found to his great joy that he did not now stand alone. Many who had heard him, had understood him. When the news that he had been driven out of Israel spread, many followed him to Judah and accompanied him to his home in Tekoah.

As was always the case with Amos in a crisis, he thought quickly and arrived at a new plan of action speedily. On his way to Tekoah he selected from among his followers men who could write—scribes—and confided to them that from now on he must confine all his wealth to the spreading of his ideas throughout the empire by means of the written word.

After all, God had willed it that he should be driven back to Tekoah. Amos, as a speaker, could address a crowd only in one place at one time. In listening to a speech, too, much of what the speaker says is lost to his hearers. Therefore, Amos concluded, God had willed it that he should return to Tekoah, write out his speeches and his warnings, send them to the farthest ends of the land that all the people may read and study and understand in order that they may return speedily to God; seek good and not evil, that the nation may live.

By day, he and his followers tended the flocks and gathered the fruit of sycamore trees. All the products that were sent to market were sold by honest weight and measure and at honest prices.

By night, he and his scribes wrote out the speeches that he had delivered in Israel, and especially in Bethel, added new ones and sent them with trusted messengers to all parts of Judah and Israel.

Amos was thus probably the first prophet who wrote down his speeches. What we have of them, however, are only fragments. There is not one speech complete as it was originally written or delivered. The fragments are collected in the Biblical book, called "Amos." Through this book the name of the humble herdsmen of Tekoah is written large in the history of religion.

It was Amos who first conceived of God as the God, not of Israel alone, but of all peoples:

"Are you not as the Ethiopians to me,
O Israel? saith God.
Did I not bring Israel up out of the land of Egypt,
And the Philistines from Caphtor,
And the Syrians from Kir?"

It was Amos who first appeared as the public champion of the poor and downtrodden, who publicly denounced the greed of the rich and the corruption of the men in power:

"For I know how manifold are your transgressions,
And how mighty are your sins—
Ye, that trample upon the poor,
That afflict the just, that take a bribe,
And that turn away the needy in the gate."

It was Amos who first cried out against the mistaken idea that animal sacrifices were what God asked of His people:

"Did ye bring unto me sacrifices and meal-offerings
In the wilderness, forty years, O house of Israel?"

It was Amos who first brought forward the great and universal truth that God judges every human being, no matter what the race or color, according to his or her acts:

"Seek good and not evil,
That ye may live;
Seek God and ye shall live."

It was Amos who first made clear, that God demands of men, above all things, justice and righteousness:

"Let justice roll down as a flood of water,
And righteousness like a never-failing stream."

We do not know definitely what became of Amos.

One tradition has it that he came to Jerusalem and, while he was denouncing Uzziah, king of Judah, Uzziah struck him on the forehead with a piece of glowing iron. As a result of the blow, Amos died while preaching in the hope of saving his people in Jerusalem, as his father died while fighting in defense of Jerusalem, in the hope of saving his country.

The probabilities are, however, that Amos lived peacefully with his disciples among his sycamore trees near Tekoah, until he had completed the writing of his speeches and saw to their distribution all over Israel, believing that there was yet time for the people of Israel to return to God and to save the nation from the calamity that was threatening it.

THE MAN WHO LEARNED HIS LESSON

CHAPTER I.

An Eventful Night.

Whenever Jezreel was sent early to bed, although he had been a good boy during the day, and, in addition, when his little sister and brother were ordered to go with him, he knew the evening would be another one of those that made his little heart ache.

Jezreel was only ten years old, but he was sharp and keen for his age. He understood that his parents wanted him out of reach and sound. Twice before, on similar occasions, after he had recited his night prayer and the maid-servant had tucked him in his bed, he lay with his eyes closed tight but wide awake, listening.

He knew that what he was doing was wrong, but he could not sleep. He heard his father and mother talking to each other loudly, but could not make out just what they were saying. Their voices, however, he felt, were not soft and sweet, as they usually were, when they addressed the children.

On this particular evening, as he went out of the dining-room with Lo-ruhamah, his seven-year-old sister, and Lo-ammi, his four-year-old brother, Jezreel made up his mind to do a very unusual thing. He determined not to sleep at all.

That afternoon, his father, Hosea, had returned from Bethel all out of sorts. The children had been expecting him, as they always did, when he came home from the sanctuary, to bring the usual little gifts; but the father seemed to have forgotten them. In fact, Hosea was quite irritated when, not understanding his father's mood, Lo-ammi cried for the expected sweets or trinkets.

In a little while, however, Hosea, calmed his youngest son and promised all three of the children that, in the morning, he would take them to the bazaars in the market place, to buy what they pleased.

Just then their mother, Gomer, came in. She was a beautiful woman, dressed in the latest fashions of the wealthy Samarians. Her robes were long and flowing. A veil, woven of golden threads and imported from Assyria, set off her jet-black hair. Her arms and fingers were adorned with jewel-studded bracelets and rings. She was accompanied by an Ethiopian slave.

Strange to say, the children did not rush to their mother, except little Lo-ammi, who was fond of the jeweled things she wore.

Gomer, on the other hand, did not seem to feel hurt that the children clung to their father and quite ignored her. After a formal greeting to her husband, and a pat of Lo-ammi's head, Gomer retired to her own room.

A little later the evening meal was announced, and, immediately after they had eaten, Jezreel, Lo-ruhamah and the baby were told to go to bed.

Their attendant, satisfied that the three children were fast asleep, left the room and went about her business. Thereupon Jezreel got out of bed, moved a chair near to the door, sat down and listened.

Below he heard his father's and mother's voices. Words were spoken in a high, shrill tone, loud and harsh, but indistinct. There were short periods of silence, followed by explosive sentences that sounded like threats. If he could only understand what it was all about! But he couldn't, until, finally all was silent in the room below.

Then Jezreel heard the street door close with a bang.

Going to the window that looked out into the street, Jezreel saw his mother standing alone in front of the house. It was an unusually moonlit night. Samaria, a beautiful city in the daytime, was a very dark and gloomy place at night, except when the moon and stars reigned in their glory in clear skies. This happened to be just such a night.

The yellow moon was reflected from the red-tiled housetops. In the distance were the famous Samarian houses of stone and marble, dark and foreboding against the moonlight. Above all the houses towered the royal palace—in which Zechariah, Jeroboam II's son, had been king since his father died, six months before—with its bright, gilded domes, like a sentinel wearing a brass helmet.

But the little boy, in his night clothes, looking out of the window of his room into the moonlit and shadowed street, saw only his mother standing there below.

His attention was called suddenly away from the window by loud sobbing. He hurried to the door, but did not dare open it. He listened until the sobbing ceased. Then he returned to the window, to find the street empty and deserted. His mother had evidently gone away.

He shivered. He folded his arms tightly, as if hugging himself to keep warm. Then he brought his chair from the door to the table, sat down and listened. In the room below he heard his father walking up and down with regular step. The house was completely silent but for Hosea's footfalls.

Jezreel drew his legs up under him on the chair. He was tired and rested his head upon his arms on the table. The silence and the monotony of the regular heavy walking in the room under him, made him drowsy. His little heart ached, though he could not explain why. He tried hard to keep awake, but finally fell asleep, there at the table. At one time he shivered, when the street door of the house shut again with a bang; but he did not wake up.

Below, a great big, powerful man had been keeping up a continuous march up and down the room. He was brooding over the events that had just preceded and thinking over the years of his married life.

When Hosea first met Gomer, she lived in her father's home in one of the poorest sections of Samaria. Diblaim, Gomer's father, was a poor man and could not give his daughter the advantages other girls in Samaria enjoyed. But Hosea loved Gomer most devotedly and he married her.

Son of the priest Beeri, Hosea inherited great wealth and a position among the priests at the Bethel sanctuary. He was thus able to give Gomer not only a beautiful home in one of the city's most beautiful suburbs, but also to introduce her to the royal and social leaders of Samaria.

After a few years, however, everything seemed to go wrong in the Hosea household. Gomer developed a weakness for luxury and jewels and fine clothes; she used to be away from the house and the children most of the time; she did not understand her husband, his desire for quiet evenings at home with the children and his dislike of the pomp and display at the court and in society. And that night, Hosea and Gomer parted, Gomer going home to her father.

Hosea felt very much oppressed. Walking up and down the room brought him no relief. So he rushed out of the house into the night, into the open, where he could breathe more freely—and think. It was the bang of the door behind him that disturbed Jezreel, asleep at the table.

But Hosea's brain was all clogged up. It could not dwell upon a single line of thought for five consecutive minutes. And yet he was so thoroughly absorbed in his thoughts, that he did not notice any number of people excitedly hurrying past him.

He walked on toward the center of the city in a daze. The first time he realized that he was not alone on the streets of Samaria was when he found himself being jostled in a wide thoroughfare leading to the market place.

Then he was awakened out of the stupor in which he had left his home by cries, coming from several directions:

"Shallum!"

"Long live the king!"

"Long life to Shallum!"

Shallum? Who was Shallum? Why was the name being shouted in the streets of Samaria?

Hosea, trying to find his bearings, was asking himself these questions when he arrived in the market place.

There an unusual and most unexpected sight met him. The place was filled with people. Troops were fighting in front of the royal palace. From the palace, which was brightly illuminated, soldiers and plain citizens were pouring forth in a stream. Above the shrieking of men and women and the clang of contending arms, he heard enthusiastic shouts:

"King Zechariah is dead! Long live King Shallum!"

What? Zechariah dead!

In a flash the whole situation was made clear to Hosea. Now he recalled that down at Bethel, the king's sanctuary, someone had spoken to him of a movement that was on foot to depose the king.

Hosea knew that Zechariah was unlike his great father, Jeroboam II, whom he succeeded in the year 742 B. C. E. The new king was a weakling. Upon his accession to the throne, Syria refused to pay the annual tribute, revolted, and Zechariah could not help himself. The wealth of the people, the luxury they lived in, the disorganization of the army by corruption, the oppression of the poor, the injustices practiced in business and in the courts of law, had unfitted Israel to wage war against Syria, or any other nation, for that matter.

Zechariah, in the six months that he ruled Samaria, therefore, lost all that had been gained by his illustrious father. Hosea, however, did not look for an insurrection in Samaria.

But here it was: Zechariah was dead and Shallum—yes, Shallum, the son of Jabesh, the one mentioned to Hosea as the probable successor—had been proclaimed king. When Shallum was spoken of, down at Bethel, Hosea had paid no particular attention. He was occupied with his own family troubles then, as he was in the presence of this history-making event. The threatened revolution was the farthest thought from his mind, at that time as it was at this moment.

Therefore, before Hosea had grasped the full significance of either of the two events that had occurred that night, he was jostled into a side street by the mob that now filled the market place.

Sick at heart, Hosea did not stop to see the bloodshed and the horror, nor to listen to the story of the revolt, but walked on to the outskirts of the city.

His head swam from the excitement. His temples pounded like sledge hammers. As he walked on, his feet grew heavy and dragged. Just how he got there Hosea did not know, but suddenly he found himself in front of his own home.

The day was now dawning. The first rays of the sun were shooting their way through the early morning mist and playing on the bedewed stones of the house. Hosea entered quietly, and walked up to the children's bed room. To his amazement he found Jezreel asleep on his arms at the table.

As he gazed for a moment upon the children, Hosea's heart was wrung with sorrow. He picked Jezreel up from the chair. The boy, asleep, clung tightly about his father's neck. Hosea laid him in his bed, covered him, kissed him and, with bowed head, went to his own room.

And while little Jezreel was dreaming that a great giant came to his home, picked up the house and shook it, carried it away to a beautiful valley and brought back his mother, Hosea sat at the window and watched and watched, until the morning's duties called him.