Chapter 2

Scarce had he ceas'd ere Zophar's turbid thoughts Made speed to answer. "Shall a tide of talk Wash out transgression? If thou choose to set The truth at nought, must others hold their peace? Hast thou not boasted that thy deeds and thoughts Were perfect in the almighty Maker's sight? Canst thou by searching find out God? Behold Higher than heaven it is, what canst thou do? Deeper than deepest hell, what canst thou know? Why wilt thou ignorantly deem thyself Unblamed before Him? Oh that He would speak, And put to shame thine arrogance. His glance Discerns all wickedness, all vain pretence To sanctity and wisdom. Were thine heart Rightly prepared, and evil put away From that and from thy house, then shouldst thou lift Thy spotless face, clear as the noon-day sun Stedfast and fearless. Yea, thou shouldst forget Thy misery, as waters that have past Away forever. Thou shouldst be secure And dig about thee and take root, and rest, While those who scorn thee now, with soul abased, Should make their suit unto thee. But the eyes Of wicked men shall fail, and as the groan Of him who giveth up the ghost, shall be Their frustrate hope." Dejectedly, as one Who wearied in a race, despairs to reach The destined goal, nor yet consents to leave His compeers masters of an unwon field. Job said,-- "No doubt ye think to have attained Monopoly of knowledge, and with you Wisdom shall die. This modesty of creed Befits ye well. Yet what have ye alledg'd Unheard before? what great discoveries made? Who knoweth not such things as ye have told? Despised am I by those who call'd me friend In prosperous days. Like a dim, waning lamp About to be extinguished am I held By the dull minds of those who dwell at ease. Weak reasoners that ye are, ye have essay'd To speak for God. Suppose ye He doth need Such advocacy? whose creative hand Holdeth the soul of every living thing, And breath of all mankind? He breaketh down, And who can build again? Princes and kings Are nothing in his sight. Disrobed of power Ceaseless they wander and He heedeth not. Those whom the world have worship'd seem as fools. He lifteth up the nations at His will, Or sweeps them with his lightest breath away Like noteless atoms. Silence is for you The truest wisdom. Creatures that ye count Inferior to yourselves, who in thin air Spread the light wing, or thro' the waters glide, Or roam the earth, might teach if ye would hear And be instructed by them. Hold your peace! Even tho' He slay me I will trust in Him For He is my salvation, He alone; At whose dread throne no hypocrite shall dare To stand, or answer. Man, of woman born Is of few days, and full of misery. Forth like a flower he comes, and is cut down, He fleeth like a shadow. What is man That God regardeth him? The forest tree Fell'd by the woodman may have hope to live And sprout again, and thro' the blessed touch Of waters at the root put forth new buds And tender branches like a plant. But man Shorn of his strength, doth waste away and die, He giveth up the ghost and where is he? As slides the mountain from its heaving base Hurling its masses o'er the startled vale, As the rent rock resumes its place no more, As the departed waters leave no trace Save the groov'd channels where they held their course Among the fissur'd stones, his form of dust With its chang'd countenance, is sent away And all the honors that he sought to leave Behind him to his sons, avail him not." He ceas'd and Eliphaz rejoin'd, "A man Of wisdom dealeth not in empty words That like the east wind stirs the unsettled sands To profitless revolt. Thou dost decry Our speech and proudly justify thyself Before thy God. He to whose searching eye Heavens' pure immaculate ether seems unclean. Ask of tradition, ask the white hair'd men Much older than thy father, since to us Thou deign'st no credence. Say they not to thee, All, as with one consent, the wicked man Travaileth with fruitless pain, a dreadful sound Forever in his ears; the mustering tramp Of hostile legions on the distant cloud, A far-off echo from the woe to come? Such is his lot who sinfully contends Against the just will of the Judging One, Lifting his puny arm in rebel pride And rushing like a madman on his doom. The wealth he may have gathered shall dissolve And turn to ashes mid devouring flame. His branch shall not be green, but as the vine Casteth her unripe grapes, as thro' the leaves Of rich and lustrous hue, the olive buds Untimely strew the ground, shall be his trust Who in the contumacy of his pride Would fain deceive both others and himself." To whom, the Man of Uz,-- "These occult truths If such ye deem them, I have heard before; Oh miserable comforters! I too Stood but your soul in my soul's stead, could heap Vain, bitter words, and shake my head in scorn. But I would study to assuage your pain, And solace shed upon your stricken hearts With balm-drops of sweet speech. Yet, as for me, I speak and none regard, or drooping sit In mournful silence, and none heed my woe. They smite me on the cheek reproachfully, And slander me in secret, though my cause And witness rest with the clear-judging Heaven. My record is on high. Oh Thou, whose hand Hath thus made desolate all my company, And left me a poor, childless man--behold They who once felt it pride to call me friend, Make of my name a by-word, which was erst Like harp or tabret to their venal lip. Mine eye is dim with grief, my wasted brow Furrow'd with wrinkles. Soon I go the way Whence I shall not return. The grave, my house, Is ready for me. In its mouldering clay My bed I make, and say unto the worm Thou art my sister." With unpitying voice Not comprehending Job, the Shuhite spake. "How long ere thou shalt make an end of words So profitless and vain? Thou dost account Us vile as beasts. But shall the stable earth With all its rocks and mountains be removed For thy good pleasure? See, the light forsake The wicked man. Darkness and loneliness Enshroud his dwelling-place. His path shall be Mid snares and traps, and his own counsel fail To guide him safely. By the heel, the gin Shall seize him, and the robber's hand prevail To rifle and destroy his treasure hoard. Secret misgivings feed upon his strength, And terrors waste his courage. He shall find In his own tabernacle no repose, Nor confidence. His withering root shall draw No nutriment, and the unsparing ax Cut off his branches. From a loathing world He shall be chased away, and leave behind No son or nephew to bear up his name Among the people. No kind memories Shall linger round his ashes, or refresh The bearts of men. They who come after him Shall be astonish'd at his doom, as they Who went before him, view'd it with affright. Such is the lot of those who know not God Or wickedly renounce Him."

Earnestly Replied the suffering man, "Ye vex my soul And break it into pieces. These ten times Have ye reproach'd me, without sense of shame Or touch of sympathy. If I have err'd As without witness ye essay to prove 'Tis my concern, not yours. But yet, how vain To speak of wrong, or plead the cause of truth Before the unjust. Can ye not understand God in his wisdom hath afflicted me? Ilis hand hath reft away my crown and stripp'd Me of my glory. Kindred blood vouchsafes No aid or solace in my deep distress. Estrang'd and far away, like statues cold Brethren and kinsfolk stand. Familiar friends Frown on me as a stranger. They who dwell In my own house and eat my bread, despise me. I call'd my own tried servant, but he gave No answer or regard. My maidens train'd For household service, to perform my will Count me an alien;--even with my wife My voice hath lost its power. Young children rise And push away my feet and mock my words. Yea, the best loved, most garner'd in my heart Do turn against me as a thing abhorr'd. Have pity, pity on me, oh my friends! The hand of God hath smitten me.

I know That my Redeemer liveth, and shall stand At last upon the earth, and though in death Worms shall destroy this body, in my flesh Shall I see God."

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This glorious burst of faith Springing from depths of misery and pain Awed them a moment, like the lightning's flash, Cleaving the cloud. But gathering strength again, They sought the conflict. "Thou, who art so wise, Hast thou not learn'd how baseless is the joy And boasting of the hypocrite? His head Up to the heavens in excellence and pride May seem to mount, yet shall he swiftly fall Leaving no trace. Though still he toils to keep His sin a secret from his fellow-men, Like a sweet, stolen morsel, hiding it Under his tongue, yet shall the veil be rent. God's fearful judgments shall make evident What he hath done in darkness. Vipers' tongues And the dire poison of the asp, shall be His recompense. Terrors shall strike him through, An inward fire of sharp remorse, unblown By mortal hand, shall on his vitals feed, And all his strength consume. His wealth shall fleet, And they who trusted to become his heirs Embrace a shadow, for his goods shall flow Away, as the false brook forsakes its sands. This is the portion of the hypocrite, The heritage appointed him by God."

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To Zophar answered Job,-- "Hear ye my speech, And when 'tis done, mock on. Not unto man Is my complaint. For were it so, my heart Would sink in darker depths of hopeless woe. Say ye that earth's 'prosperity' rewards The righteous man? Why do the wicked live, Grow old, and magnify themselves in power? Their offspring flourish round them, their abodes Are safe from fear. Their cattle multiply And widely o'er the hills and pastures green Wander their healthful herds. Forth like a flock They send their little ones, with dance and song, Tabret and harp. They spend their days in wealth And sink to slumber in the quiet grave. Yet unto God they said, Depart from us, For we desire no knowledge of thy ways. Why should we serve the Almighty? Who is he? And what our profit if we pray to Him?

Close by these impious ones lies down to sleep, One in the strength and glory of his prime, Whom sorrow never touch'd, nor age impair'd; And still another, wan misfortune's child, Nurtur'd in bitterness, who never took His meat with pleasure. Side by side they rest On Death's oblivious pillow. Do ye say Their varied lot below, mark'd their deserts? In retribution just?

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But as for you With eyes so sharp for your own selfish ends, Who by the wayside ask where'er ye go, "_Where is the dwelling of the prince?_ and seek Gain more than godliness, I know full well Your deep contempt for one too poor to bribe Your false allegiance, and the unkind device Ye wrongfully imagine. Will ye teach Knowledge to God? Doth He not wisely judge The highest? and reserve the sons of guilt For the destruction that awaiteth them?"

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In quick rejoinder, Eliphaz replied, "What is thy fancied goodness in the sight Of the Almighty? Is it gain to Him If thou art righteous? Would it add to Him Gladness or glory, that thy ways should be What thou call'st perfect? Rather turn thine eyes Upon the record of thy sins, and see Their countless number. Hast thou taken a pledge From thy poor brother's hand? or reft away The garment from the shivering? or withheld Bread from the hungry? or the widow sent Empty away? not given the weary soul What it implored? nor bound the broken arm Of the forsaken fatherless? For this Have snares beset thee? and a secret fear Dismay'd thy spirit? and a rayless night Shut over thee? Look to the height of heaven, Above the utmost star. Is not God there? Think'st thou that aught can intercept His sight Or bar His righteous judgment? He who makes The thickest clouds His footstool, when He walks Upon the circuit of the highest heavens? Acquaint thyself with Him and be at peace, Return to Him, and He shall build thee up. Take thou His precepts to thine inmost heart That thy lost blessings may revisit thee. Put far away thy foster'd sins, and share The swelling flood-tide of prosperity. Thou shalt have silver at thy will, and gold, The gold of Ophir in thy path shall lie As stones that pave the brooks. Make thou thy prayer, And pay thy vows, and He will hear thy voice And give thee light, and thy desires confirm: For He will save the humble and protect The innocent and still deliver those Whose hands are pure."

To whom, the Man of Uz,

"Oh that I knew where I might find my Judge, That I might press even to His seat, and plead My cause before Him. Would He strike me dumb With His great power? Nay,--rather would he give Strength to the weakness that would answer Him. Lo! I go forward,--but He is not there,-- And backward, yet my eyes perceive Him not. On the left hand, His works surround me still, But He is absent,--on the right, I gaze, Yet doth He hide Himself. But well He knows My way, and when the time of trial's o'er, And the refining fire hath purg'd the dross, I shall come forth as gold. My feet have kept The path appointed, nor from His commands Unduly swerved, for I have prized His word More than my needful food. Yet He performs What His wise counsel hath decreed for me, Though sometimes sinks my soften'd heart beneath The terror of His stroke. There are, who seize With violence whate'er their eyes desire; Gorging themselves upon the stolen flock And leaving desolate the rifled hut Of the defenceless. Solitary ones Hide from their robberies, for forth they go Into the wilderness, their prey to hunt Like ravening beasts. There are, who watch to slay, Rising before the dawn, or wrapp'd in night Roaming with stealthy footstep, as a thief, To smite their victims, while the wounded groan Struck by their fatal shaft. There are, who do Such deeds of utter darkness as detest The gaze of day. Muffling their face, they dig Their way to habitations where they leave Shame and dishonor. Though He seem to sleep, God's eye is on their ways. A little while They wrap themselves in secret infamy, Or proudly flourish,--but as the tall tree Yields in a moment to the wrecking blast, As 'neath the sickle falls the crisping corn, Shall they be swept away, and leave no trace."

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Bildad, the Shuhite, rose in act to speak.

"Dominion is with God, and fear. He makes Peace in his own high places. Dost thou know The number of His armies? Or on whom His light ariseth not? How then can man Be justified with God? or he be pure Born of a woman. Lo! the cloudless Moon, And yon unsullied stars, are in His sight Dim and impure. Can man who is a worm Be spotless with his Maker?" Hark, the voice Of the afflicted man: "How dost thou help Him that is powerless? how sustain the arm That fails in strength? how counsel him who needs Wisdom? and how declare the righteous truth Just as it is? To Him who reads the soul, Hades is naked, and the realms of Death Have naught to cover them. This pendent Earth Hangs on his word,--in gathering clouds he binds The ponderous waters, till at his command They rend their filmy prison. Day and night Await his nod to run their measured course. Heaven's pillars and its everlasting gates Tremble at his reproof. The cleaving sea And man's defeated pride confess his power. Yet the same Hand that garnisheth the skies Disdaineth not to fashion and sustain The crooked serpent. But how small a part Of all its works are understood by us Dim dwellers in this lowly vestibule, And by the thunders of mysterious power Still held in awe. As the Eternal lives Who hath bow'd down my soul, as long as breath Inspires this mortal frame, these lips shall ne'er Utter deceit, nor cast away the wealth Of a good conscience. While I live I'll hold Fast mine integrity,--nor justify The slanderous charges of a secret guilt Ye bring against me. For what is the gain Of the base hypocrite when God shall take Away his perjured soul? Yourselves have seen How often in this life the wicked taste Of retribution. The oppressor bears Sway for a while,--but look!--the downfall comes. His offspring shall not flourish, nor his grave Be wet with widow's tears. The unjust rich man Heapeth up silver for a stranger's hand, He hoardeth raiment with a miser's greed To robe he knows not who, though he himself Had grudg'd to wear it. Boastfully he builds A costly mansion to preserve his name Among the people. But like the slight booth, Brief lodge of summer, shall it pass away. Terrors without a cause, disable him And drown his courage. Like a driven leaf Before the whirlwind, shall he hasten down To a dishonor'd tomb. Men shall rejoice, And clap their hands, and hiss him from his place When he departs. Surely, there is a vein For silver, and a secret bed for gold Which man discovers. Where the iron sleeps In darkest chambers of the mine he knows, And how the brass is molten. But a Mind Deeper than his, close-hidden things explores, Searching out all perfection. Earth unveils The mystic treasures of her matron breast, Bread for her children, gems like living flame, Sapphires, whose azure emulates the skies, And dust of gold. Yet there's a curtain'd path Which the unfettered denizens of air Have not descried, nor even the piercing eye Of the black vulture seen. The lion's whelps In their wide roaming, nor their fiercer sire Have never trod it. There's a Hand that bares The roots of mountains at its will, and cuts Through rifted rocks a channel, where the streams And rivers freely flow--an Eye that scans Each precious thing. But where doth Wisdom dwell? And in what curtain'd chamber was the birth Of Understanding? The great Sea uplifts Its hand in adjuration, and declares "_'Tis not with me,_" and its unfathom'd deep In subterranean thunders, echoing cry "_No, not with me._" Offer ye not for them Silver, or Ophir's gold, nor think to exchange Onyx, or sapphire, or the coral branch Or crystal gem where hides imprison'd light, Nor make ye mention of the precious pearl Or Ethiopian topaz, for their price Transcendeth rubies, or the dazzling ray Of concentrated jewels. In what place Are found these wondrous treasures? Who will show Their habitation? which alike defies The ken of those who soar, or those who delve In cells profound. Death and destruction say, From their hoarse caverns, "We have heard their fame But know them not." Lo! He who weighs the winds Measures the floods, controls the surging sea And points the forked lightnings where to play, He, unto whom all mysteries are plain All secrets open, all disguises clear, Saith unto man the questioner,-- "Behold The fear of God is wisdom, and to break The sway of evil and depart from sin Is understanding." Anguish wrings my soul As in my hours of musing I restore The picture of my lost prosperity, When round my side my loving children drew And from my happy home my steps were hail'd Where'er I went. The fatherless and poor, And he who had no helper, welcomed me As one to right their wrongs, and pluck the spoil From the oppressor's teeth. Pale widows raised The glistening eye of gratitude, and they Whose sight was quench'd, at my remembered tones Pour'd blessings on me. Overflowing wealth Brought me no titles that I held so dear As father of the poor, and comforter Of all who mourn. When in the gate I sate The nobles did me honor, and the wise Sought counsel of me. To my words the young Gave earnest heed, the white-hair'd men stood up, And princes waited for my speech, as wait The fields in summer for the latter rain. But now, the children of base men spring up And push away my feet, and make my name A bye-word and a mockery, which was erst Set to the harp in song. Because my wealth God hath resumed, they who ne'er dared to claim Equality with even the lowest ones Who watch'd my flock, they whom my menials scorned, Dwellers in hovels, feeding like the brutes On roots and bushes of the wilderness, Despise me, and in mean derision cast Marks of abhorrence at the fallen chief Whom erst they fear'd. Unpitied I endure Sickness and pain that ope the narrow house Where all the living go. My soul dissolves And flows away as water--like the owl In lone, forgotten cavern I complain, For all my instruments of music yield But mournful sounds, and from my organ comes A sob of weeping. I appeal to Him Who sees my ways, and all my steps doth count, If I have walk'd with vanity or worn The veil of falsehood, or despised to obey The law of duty; if I basely prowl'd With evil purpose round my neighbor's door, Or scorn'd my humblest menial's cause to right When he contended with me, and complain'd, Framed as he was of the same clay with me By the same Hand Divine; or shunn'd to share Even my last morsel with the hungry poor, Or shield the uncovered suppliant with the fleece Of my own cherish'd flock. If ere I made Fine gold my confidence, or lifted up My heart in pride, because my wealth was great, Or when I saw the glorious King of Day Gladdening all nations, and the queenly Moon Walking in brightness, was enticed to pay A secret homage,--'twere idolatry Unpardonably great. If I rejoiced In the affliction of mine enemy Or for his hatred breathed a vengeful vow When trouble came upon him,--if I closed The inhospitable door against the foot Of stranger, or of traveller,--or withheld Full nutriment from any who abode Within my tabernacle,--or refused Due justice even to my own furrow'd field, Then let my harvest unto thistles turn, And rootless weeds o'ertop the beardless grain."

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Then ceased the Man of Uz, like one o'erspent, Feeling the fallacy of argument With auditors like these, his thoughts withdrew Into the shroud of silence, and he spake No more unto them, standing fix'd and mute, Like statued marble. Then, as none replied, A youthful stranger rose, and while he stretch'd His hand in act to speak, and heavenward raised His clear, unshrinking brow, he worthy seem'd To hold the balance of that high debate. Still, an indignant warmth, with energy Of fervid eloquence his lips inspired.

--"I said that multitude of days should bring Wisdom to man, and so gave earnest heed To every argument. And lo! not one Of all your speeches have convicted Job, Or proved your theory that woes like his Denote a secret guilt. I listened still With that respect which youth doth owe to age, And till ye ceased to speak, refrain'd to show Mine own opinion. But there is a breath From the Almighty, that gives life to thought, And in my soul imprison'd utterance burns Like torturing flame. So, will I give it vent Though I am young in years, and ye are old, And should be wise. I will not shun to uphold The righteous cause, nor will I gloze the wrong With flattering titles, lest the kindling wrath Of an offended Maker, sweep me hence.