Pour out my bleeding heart without control,

And freely let the bitter torrent roll.

Am I a sea, or monster of the sea,
That I am kept in constant custody?
If to my bed I take, for brief repose,
And say, "In sleep I shall forget my
woes;"

Then hideous dreams my very soul affright,

And frowning ghosts, and noises of the night.

Strangling and death would not extort

such groans,

As to support these miserable bones.
I loathe to live, nor always wish to be-
Let me alone; my days are vanity.
Lord, what is man; that such a jealous
eye

Is fixt upon him from the lofty sky; That every moment to his watch is given,

And every trial order'd under heaven? How long, or e'er thou wilt withdraw a little,

And leave me time to swallow down my spittle?

Lord, I have sinnèd-what shall I do, then?

O, thou observer, and support of men. Why hast thou set me as a mark for aim;

And made myself my burden, and my shame?

And why, I pray thee, wilt thou not o'erlook,

O Lord, my sins, and blot them from thy book?

Soon shall I sleep in dust; and, when, anon,

Thou seek'st me here to-morrow, shall be gone."

CHAPTER VIII. CRIMINATION.

Bildad vindicates God's judgments; appeals to antiquity for proof of the punishment of the wicked; and applies the case to Job.

To whom the Shuhite: "O, how long thy mind

Will it be raving, like the wintry wind?

The tranquil heavens o'er its troubled bed:

Arcturus made, Orion's watery ray, The Pleiades, and chambers of the day: Who doeth wonders, without number, great;

And miracles, that none can penetrate. Lo, there he passeth, but I see him not; His viewless presence is in every spot. He takes away, and who is to prevent? Or who shall say: "What doth th' Omnipotent?"

Unless in pity he unbend his brow, The proud confederates are forc'd to bow;

How much less wonder then if I be aw'd,

Nor find expressions to contend with God?

With whom, though innocent, I'd not contend,

But on the mercy of my Judge depend; For had I pray'd, and had my prayer receiv'd

A signal answer, I had not believ'd; Though promptly sent, agreeable to my voice,

The very blessings, I had made by choice,

I had not thought, though all I ask'd were given,

Nor dar'd to hope, that I was heard in heaven.

I am so hurt and broken by the blast, And feel my sorrows coming on SO

fast;

Would laugh to wait the trial of the good.

Who are the judges, and the great we see?

The bad-if not, then where, and who is he?

But now my days are swifter than a post;

Nor leave a blessing, in their flight to boast;

Gone, as a ship upon her desert way; Gone, as an eagle darting on her prey. Lo, if I say, I will forget my grief, Leave off this heaviness, and have relief;

Then I'm afraid, lest all my woes will rise,

Knowing I am not guiltless in thine

eyes;

And being wicked, I must work in vain To wipe out sorrow, and remove the stain;

Yea, in snow-water if I wash me white, Till I were ne'er so beauteous and so bright;

Yet thou wilt plunge me in the mire. again,

Till my own clothes shall view me with disdain.

For he is not a man, that we may try Our cause together, challenge and reply; Nor have we here an umpire, under oath,

To stand and place his hand upon us both;

But only let him take his rod away, And only let his terror not dismay; Then would I come up boldly with my plea,

Before his face: but 'tis not so with me."

CHAPTER X.

EXPOSTULATION.

Job in the fullness of his heart reasons with his Maker; complains of oppres sion and contempt; inveighs against life, and craves a little ease before death.

"Now is my soul a-weary of my life; I'll pour it forth, and leave the bitter strife.

"Do not condemn me," thus the strain shall flow,

"Lord God, and why dost thou afflict me so?

How can it please thee to oppress, and spurn

Works, that from thee proceed, to thee return,

Form'd of thy hand, and in thine own design,

And on the counsel of the wicked shine? Hast thou the vision and the eyes of man?

Is thy duration rounded to a span? Thou look'st so narrowly at all within, To find some error, and to seize on sin? Thou know'st I am not of the wicked band;

And there is none can rescue from thy hand.

Thy hands have made and moulded out my frame;

And thou wilt now destroy me with the same?

Then thou hast form'd me from the dust in vain,

So soon to bring me to the dust again. Hast thou as milk not pour'd me out,

I pray,

Gather'd around and curdled, where I lay;

And cloth'd me outwardly, with flesh and skin;

With bones and sinews brac'd me up within;

With light and favour hast sustain'd my breath,

By visitation kept my soul from death? All this to thee, and more, is not unknown;

Thou know'st it all, and know'st it all alone.

If I have sin, why then thou know'st that too,

Nor wilt acquit me from the least I

And all its changes are against my life. Why was I brought into the world? O why

Did I not perish in the womb, and die? I should have been, as though I ne'er had been;

Just wak'd to life, and sunk to sleep again.

Are they not few, my days, and brief at best?

Then turn, and leave me to a little rest; Ere I go whither, I shall not return, To that dark country, that unlovely bourn,

Where very darkness is itself the light, And undistinguish'd lie the things of night;

A land of darkness and the shades of death,

Far from the beams of day, and its reviving breath."

CHAPTER XI.

REPROACH.

Zophar's severe reproof; the unsearchableness of God; and blessings of repentence.

THEN answer'd Zophar, the Naamathite: "How shall a man so full of words be right?

Here must we sit and listen to thy lies, And no man shame thee of thy mockeries?

For look: "My life has been a blameless walk"

This is the tone and tenour of your talk

"My doctrine's pure"-But O that he would deign

To move his lips and answer thee again: That thou might'st see the secrets of his skill,

And know his power is double to his will;

Know thou hast injur'd more than thou art hurt,

And still hast nought compar'd with thy desert.

Ah, who by searching can discover God, And comprehend th' abyss of his abode? Above beneath, what can'st thou do, or know,

High as the heavens, and deep as hell below?

The line, if thou would'st measure him, must be

Longer than earth, and broader than the sea.

If he cut off, or scatter, or enclose, Then who is there to hinder, or oppose? Vain man he sees, and watches all the while,

And seeing, notes and punishes the vile; Sees his vainglorious and presumptuous soul,

Though born no better than an ass's foal.

But if e'en thou, as guilty as thou art, Would'st stretch thy hands toward him, and thy heart;

Put off iniquity, if thou hast not, And cleanse thy house, throughout of every blot;

Soon the bright change should in thy face appear,

And set thee safe from sorrow and from fear.

Then, as what brooks have pass'd into

the sea,

Shall be the memory of thy misery.

Thou shalt be clearer than the morning

shines;

"My boundless curse be on
The day that I was born;
Quenched be the star that shone
Upon my natal morn.

In the grave I long

To shroud my breast;

Where the wicked cease to wrong,
And the weary are at rest."

Then Eliphaz rebuked his wild despair: "What Heaven ordains, 'tis meet that man should bear.

Lately, at midnight dread,

A vision shook my bones with fear;
A spirit pass'd before my face,
And yet its form I could not trace;
It stopp'd-it stood-it chill'd my
blood,

The hair upon my flesh uprose
With freezing dread!

Deep silence reign'd, and, at its close,
I heard a voice that said-

"Shall mortal man be more pure and

just?

Than God, who made him from the dust?

Hast thou not learnt of old, how fleet
Is the triumph of the hypocrite;
How soon the wreath of joy grows wan
On the brow of the ungodly man?

By the fire of his conscience he perisheth

In an unblown flame:

The Earth demands his death, And the Heavens reveal his shame.'"

Јов

Is this your consolation?

Is it thus that ye condole
With the depth of my desolation
And the anguish of my soul?
But I will not cease to wail
The bitterness of my bale.-

Man that is born of woman,
Short and evil is his hour;

He fleeth like a shadow,

He fadeth like a flower.

My days are pass'd-my hope and trust Is but to moulder in the dust.

CHORUS.

Bow, mortal, bow, before thy God Nor murmur at his chastening rod;

Fragile being of earthly clay,
Think on God's eternal sway!
Hark! from the whirlwind forth
Thy Maker speaks-"Thou child of
earth,

Where wert thou when I laid

Creation's corner-stone?

When the sons of God rejoicing made, And the morning stars together sang and shone?

Hadst thou power to bid above
Heaven's constellations glow;

Or shape the forms that live and move On Nature's face below?

Hast thou given the horse his strength and pride?

He paws the valley, with nostril wide, He smells far off the battle,

He neighs at the trumpet's soundAnd his speed devours the ground, As he sweeps where the quivers rattle, And the spear and shield shine bright, 'Midst the shouting of the captains And the thunder of the fight.

THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777-1844).

"THOU HAST MADE DESOLATE ALL MY COMPANY."

JOB.

THERE shone a beam within my bower, Affection's diamond spark:

The spoiler came with fatal powerThat beam is quenched and dark. There was a shout of childhood's joy, A laugh of infant glee,

The earth closed o'er my glorious boy, My nursling-Where is he?

There seemed a sound like rushing wings,

So thick my sorrows came, A blight destroyed my precious things, My treasures fed the flame; An ocean of unfathomed woe Swept on with all its waves, And here, all desolate, I stand Alone amid my graves.

Alone! there flows no kindred tear,

No sympathizing sigh;

The feet of curious throngs are near, But every cheek is dry.