Then harsh-tongued Zophar, the Naamathite,
Answered with mockery of hope and spite.
Think'st thou, for all thy multitude
Of words, we have not answers good.
How should a man be justified,
Who, full of talk, the truth doth hide.
Shall men be silenced by thy lies?
Shall none, when thou dost mock, arise
To cause thee shame by their replies?
For thou hast call'd thy doctrine pure,
And of thine innocence art sure.
But oh! that God would silence break;—
That His own lips would answer make,—
The Secrets of His wisdom shew,
And that Himself would make thee know
The double mysteries that lie,
Behind the things which meet the eye.
Then should'st thou learn, if this could be,
That God exacteth not from thee
The meed of thine iniquity.
Canst thou, by searching, find out God,
Or aught of His Divine abode?
What of the Almighty, here below,
Unto perfection canst thou know?
High as the Heavens his wonders rise—
Deeper than Hell his wisdom lies.
Canst thou ascend His power to know?
Its depth to fathom, canst thou go?
Beyond the earth its length extends,
Nor with the ocean's bounds it ends.
If He cut off the earth's extent,
Or gather up the firmament,
Or shut the Heavens, who shall prevent?
Man in his vanity He knoweth,
And not a deed the wicked doeth,
But is laid open in His sight
Who will consider and requite.
Vain man would fain, in other's eyes,
As in his own, be counted wise.
Albeit a thing of little worth,—
Like the wild ass's colt brought forth.
But wouldst thou now thine heart prepare,
And tow'rds Him stretch thine hands in prayer,
If ought of wickedness have part
Or in thine hand, or in thine heart,
Now put it from thee far away,
Nor let iniquity have sway
Henceforward, in thine house or breast,
Or in thy tabernacle rest.
Spotless thou then shalt lift thine head,
And steadfast and unfearing tread;
Because thy pain and misery o'er,
Thou shalt remember them no more.
Departed and forgotten they,
As flowing waters pass away.
Then shall thine age beam forth more bright,
And clearer than the noonday's light,
And morn shall shine where now 'tis night.
Then shalt thou dwell in hope secure,
Yea, dig about thee, safe and sure,
And lay thee down and take thy rest,
With none to scare thee or molest.
And men once more shall seek thine aid
And many a suit to thee be made;
Whilst thou shalt see the wicked quail,—
Without escape—their eyes shall fail,
Their every hope, above, beneath—
Vanish'd as life's last parting breath.