FROM JOB.

I.

A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld
The face of Immortality unveil'd-

Deep sleep came down on ev'ry eye save mine—
And there it stood,-all formless-but divine:
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;

And as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake.

II.

"Is man more just than God? Is man more pure

Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure? Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! The moth survives you, and are ye more just? Things of a day! you wither ere the night, Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!"

THE END.