ou deign'st no credence. Say they not to thee,
All, as with one consent, the wicked man
Travaileth with fruitless pain, a dreadful sound
Forever in his ears; the mustering tramp
Of hostile legions on the distant cloud,
A far-off echo from the woe to come?
Such is his lot who sinfully contends
Against the just will of the Judging One,
Lifting his puny arm in rebel pride
And rushing like a madman on his doom.
The wealth he may have gathered shall dissolve
And turn to ashes mid devouring flame.
His branch shall not be green, but as the vine
Casteth her unripe grapes, as thro' the leaves
Of rich and lustrous hue, the olive buds
Untimely strew the ground, shall be his trust
Who in the contumacy of his pride
Would fain deceive both others and himself."
To whom, the Man of Uz,--
"These occult truths
If such ye deem them, I have heard before;
Oh miserable comforters! I too
Stood but your soul in my soul's stead, could heap
Vain, bitter words, and shake my head in scorn.
But I would study to assuage your pain,
And solace shed upon your stricken hearts
With balm-drops of sweet speech.
Yet, as for me,
I speak and none regard, or drooping sit
In mournful silence, and none heed my woe.
They smite me on the cheek reproachfully,
And slander me in secret, though my cause
And witness rest with the clear-judging Heaven.
My record is on high.
Oh Thou, whose hand
Hath thus made desolate all my company,
And left me a poor, childless man--behold
They who once felt it pride to call me friend,
Make of my name a by-word, which was erst
Like harp or tabret to their venal lip.
Mine eye is dim with grief, my wasted brow
Furrow'd with wrinkles.
Soon I go the way
Whence I shall not return. The grave, my house,
Is ready for me. In its mouldering clay
My bed I make, and say unto the worm
Thou art my sister."
With unpitying voice
Not comprehending Job, the Shuhite spake.
"How long ere thou shalt make an end of words
So profitless and vain? Thou dost account
Us vile as beasts. But shall the stable earth
With all its rocks and mountains be removed
For thy good pleasure?
See, the light forsake
The wicked man. Darkness and loneliness
Enshroud his dwelling-place. His path shall be
Mid snares and traps, and his own counsel fail
To guide him safely. By the heel, the gin
Shall seize him, and the robber's hand