Then bitterly again harsh Zophar spake,
And thus the Naamathite did answer make.
Reasons I have not now to seek,
Why I should haste my thoughts to speak:
The check of my reproach I hear,
Nor can I to reply forbear.
For in the spirit of my mind,
Wherewith to answer thee I find.
This truth of old dost thou not know,
Since man was placed on earth below,
That short the triumph doth remain,
And brief the joy of evil men?
The sinner and the hypocrite,
Although unto the very height
Of Heaven, his excellency rise;
And though his head should reach the skies,—
Yet mark how, in a little while,
He perisheth as thing most vile;
And they who late his form did see,
Shall vainly ask where he may be.
Like as a dream, before the day
Doth vanish, he shall pass away;
Yea, as a vision of the night
Is found no more, and chas'd from sight,
The eye that saw him, shall in vain,
Seek to behold his face again;
Nor by the place where he hath been
Shall ever more his form be seen.
His children shall his gains restore,
And in their turn shall serve the poor.
Iniquities his bones do fill,—
His youthful sins possess him still,
And when his earthly days are past,
Shall with him lie in dust at last.
Though wickedness to him be sweet,
As to the taste some dainty meat,—
Though in his mouth he keep it long,
And hide it underneath his tongue,—
Though there he love to hold it fast,
And spareth it to make it last,
Once swallowed, it is changed all,
As though his food were turn'd to gall.
The wealth he hath devour'd in vain,
God willeth not that he retain,—
All shall he vomit forth again.
The evil which his soul did love,
A draught of bitterness shall prove.
The asp's fell poison he shall drain,
And by the viper's tongue be slain.
No cooling rills shall meet his eyes—
No floods his lands shall fertilize.
His fields no fatness shall bestow;—
For him no streams of honey flow.—
He shall restore his every gain,
Nor aught for which he toil'd, retain.
According to the wealth that he
Obtain'd, shall restitution be;
No joy therein shall he possess.
Because the poor he did oppress,
And hath the destitute forsaken,
And from him ruthlessly hath taken
The dwelling which he did not build,
To him no peace his wealth shall yield.
Nought that he most desir'd to have,
Of food or treasure, shall he save,
Nor aught remain that men can crave.
In fulness of sufficiency
He even then shall straitened be;—
And wickedness in every form,
On every hand, shall work his harm.
When he his hunger satisfies,
God in his fury shall arise,—
His wrath he shall upon him cast,
And rain it down on his repast.
If he the iron weapon flee,
The bow of steel in wait shall be;
The string is drawn, and aim'd the dart—
It flies, and strikes him through the heart;
The glittering sword doth pierce his gall,
And gathering terrors on him fall.
Darkness doth o'er his house abide,
And in his secret places hide.
Flames from above shall on him come,
In fires unblown shall he consume;
And sorely shall he rue the day,
Who doth within his dwelling stay.
Heaven shall his wickedness declare,
And earth against him witness bear;
His house's increase shall not stay,
And his possessions, in the day
When wrath doth smite, shall melt away:
This is the heritage, and end,
Which to the wicked God doth send;
The portion of iniquity,
By God appointed, this shall be.