Man of Uz, and Other Poems | Page 8

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