At length did Job that awful stillness break,
And to lament his day he sorrowing spake.
Woe to the day that saw my birth,
And when my being first began,
When wept the babe its doom of earth
As weeps the man.
Let darkness still that day entomb,
Unmark'd of God with eye of love;
Let not one ray to chase its gloom
Shine from above.
Let Death's fell shadow there remain;—
Be it to hopeless terror given;—
Let blackest clouds its sunlight stain,
Unown'd by Heaven.
And let its night still darker be,
Its date cut off from all the rest—
By years and months, eternally
Left unconfest.
No voice of joy shall in it sound,
No tones of thankfulness or prayer;—
Let those who curse the day, be found
Still wailing there.
Letnot its twilight's starry eyes,
Or gentle moon bestow their light—
Let dawn of day no more arise
To end that night.
Because my course it failed to stay,
As stream turn'd to its source again,
Nor on life's threshold barr'd my way
To care and pain.
Why, on my mother's lap caress'd,
Did I not yield my earliest breath,
And on her bosom hush'd to rest,
Sank not in death?
Oh! then as one unborn doth sleep,
Or birth untimely and unknown,
I ne'er had wak'd to watch and weep
In grief alone.
But still and quiet I had lain,
An infant's grave my hidden bed;
No sound of earth disturbs again
The slumbering dead.
Though kings and counsellors have made
Their tombs apart and desolate,
Yet there in mingled dust, are laid
Both small and great.
There sleeps the prince whose palace hall
Was fill'd with gold and silver store;
And with him rests the captive thrall—
His bondage o'er.
Tyrants and slaves together lie
In lowly brotherhood of death,
And breathe with stern equality
Their latest breath.
There wickedness no more can wound,
And there in peace the weary rest;—
There no oppressor's voice can sound
With tones unblest.
Forever loos'd the prisoner's chain—
The bondsman from his master free—
And rest doth in the grave remain
For all but me.
Oh! Why is light to misery given,
And life to souls in bitterness—
They who for death have long'd and striven
In vain distress.
Yea, more than theirs who delve the earth
For hidden wealth, hath been my care;
A grave to me were better worth
Than jewels rare.
How joyful should I close my eyes,
And make the valley clods my bed!
For why should light on him arise
Whose way is hid?
My God permits me not to move—
Hedg'd is my path before, around—
Then why, for guidance from above,
Should light be found?
Tears are my drink, my food is sighs;
Like roaring streams my groans are heard;
And I have seen with weeping eyes,
All that I fear'd.
'Twas in no confidence of pride
I held the gifts of love divine—
My heart in fear did still abide
While they were mine.
Nor yet in careless rest, nor sloth,
Nor impious thought that peace must last,—
When sudden fell the bolts of wrath,
And all is past!