To these old maxims stor'd in Bildad's head,
Job meekly gave assent, and answering said,
I know it of a truth;
But how should man with God be counted just?
Frail both in age and youth,
With him how shall he strive who is but dust?
How for his thousand sins shall he atone,
Or to his God make answer, e'en for one?
Wise as He is in heart,
And mighty in His strength, who shall contend,
Or with a rebel's part,
Against His judgment shall himself defend?
He prospereth not, who doth His power withstand,
And strive with hardened will against His Hand.
He doth the hills o'erthrow,
(Though Him they know not) in His power and wrath.
Earth's pillars trembling bow,
When He doth stoop to shake her in her path.
The sun ariseth not if He command—
The stars are sealèd by His sovereign Hand.
Alone the Heavens He spreadeth,
And the cloud-chambers raiseth, of the south.
The ocean heights He treadeth;
And in their splendour of unfading youth,
Hath made Arcturus, and Orion bright,
And the soft Pleiades with gentler light.
Wonderous the things He doeth,
Countless in number and past finding out.
By me, unseen, He goeth—
He passeth on, but I perceive Him not.
Who shall prevent when He doth take away?
What doest Thou? who unto Him shall say?
When the proud Helpers stoop
Beneath His anger, if it be not stay'd,
What then can be my hope
In fitting words, with Him, my Judge, to plead?
Of whom, if e'en my righteousness were known,
Unanswering, I should mercy ask alone.
And if He then should speak,
That He should answer me, could I believe,
When He my strength doth break,
With tempests, and with causeless wounds doth grieve?
Nor will He suffer that I draw my breath,
But fills me with the bitterness of death.
If I of strength would speak,
Lo! He is strong, and Infinite in Power;—
Or judgment—who would seek
My cause to plead, or fix its fitting hour?
And should I strive myself to justify,
My very words would their own truth belie.
I should perverseness show
If to perfection I should make pretence;
Nor mine own soul could know,
If daring to assert mine innocence.
And were I even righteous found, and pure,
My life I still should scorn, nor count it sure.
But one thing have I known,
And therefore spoken;—that the sword doth strike
Not on the vile alone,
But on the evil and the good alike.
The trial of the Just He doth not stay,
Nor hindereth when the sword doth sudden slay.
The earth is surely given
A portion to the hands of evil men,
Until the veil be riven,
Through which the truth of things is dimly seen.
Of God the Judge's eyes must covered be—
If thus it be not, who and where is He?
As a Post speeds away,
Swift fly my days, yet nought of good they bring,—
So, hastening to the prey,
The eagle cleaves the air on rapid wing.
So do the reed-built ships, from moorings freed,
Bound o'er the foaming waves with trackless speed.
If, striving to forget,
I say that thus will I no more complain,
And with feign'd comfort cheat
My heaviness;—'tis labour but in vain,
Whilst I do fear my sorrows all the while,
And in Thy sight am still accounted vile.
If, that my hands be pure,
I wash me in snow water, ne'er so clean,
No more could I endure
By Thine eye to be search'd and inly seen,
Than if by Thee plung'd in the ditch, oh Lord!
And by the very clothes I wore, abhorr'd.
For He is not like me,
A man, that answering, I with Him should speak;
Or in equality,
That we together should for judgment seek;
Nor is there one, on each to lay his hand,
And thus to mediate, between us stand.
Let Him but take away
The rod whose strokes unceasingly descend;
His terrors let Him stay,—
Unfearing then would I my cause defend;
But so it is not with me in my dread,
No strength is left me for myself to plead.