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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
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