So when the
revelation comes upon him of what was passing in them,
he attributes it (and now he is unjust to them) to a
falsehood of heart, and not to a blindness of under-
standing. Their sermons, so kindly intended, roll past
him as a dismal mockery. They had been shocked
(and how true again is this to nature) at his passionate
cry for death. "Do ye reprove words?" he says,
"and the speeches of one that is desperate, which
are as wind?" It was but poor friendship and narrow
wisdom. He had looked to them for pity, for comfort,
and love. He had longed for it as the parched caravans
in the desert for the water-streams, and "his brethren
had dealt deceitfully with him," as the brooks, which
in the cool winter roll in a full turbid stream; "what
time it waxes warm they vanish, when it is hot they are
consumed out of their place. The caravans of Tema
looked for them, the companies of Sheba waited for
them. They were confounded because they had hoped.
They came thither and there was nothing." If for once
these poor men could have trusted their hearts, if for
once they could have believed that there might be
"more things in heaven and earth" than were dreamt
of in their philosophy--but this is the one thing which
they could not do, which the theologian proper never
has done or will do. And thus whatever of calmness or
endurance, Job alone, on his ash-heap, might have
conquered for himself, is all scattered away; and as the
strong gusts of passion sweep to and fro across his heart,
he pours himself out in wild fitful music, so beautiful
because so true, not answering them or their speeches,
but now flinging them from him in scorn, now appealing
to their mercy, or turning indignantly to God; now
praying for death; now in perplexity doubting whether,
in some mystic way which he cannot understand, he
may not, perhaps after all, really have sinned, and
praying to be shown it; and, then, staggering further into
the darkness, and breaking out into upbraidings of the
Power which has become so dreadful an enigma to him.
"Thou inquirest after my iniquity, thou searchest after
my sin, and thou knowest that I am not wicked. Why
didst thou bring me forth out of the womb? Oh, that
I had given up the ghost, and no eye had seen me.
Cease, let me alone. It is but a little while that I have
to live. Let me alone, that I may take comfort a little
before I go, whence I shall not return to the land of
darkness and the shadow of death."