Mild is my Behemoth, though large his frame;

Smooth is his temper, and repressed his flame;

While unprovoked. This native of the flood

Lifts his broad foot, and puts ashore for food:

Earth sinks beneath him as he moves along

To seek the herbs, and mingle with the throng.

See, with what strength his hardened loins are bound,

All over proof, and shut against a wound!

How like a mountain cedar moves his tail!

Nor can his complicated sinews fail. Built high and wide, his solid bones sur

pass

The bars of steel; his ribs are ribs of brass;

His port majestic, and his armèd jaw, Give the wide forest and the mountain law.

The mountains feed him; there the beasts admire

The mighty stranger, and in dread retire;

At length his greatness nearer they survey,

Graze in his shadow, and his eye obey. The ferns and marshes are his cool retreat,

His noontide shelter from the burning heat;

Their sedgy bosoms his wide couch are made,

And groves of willows give him all their shade.

His eye drinks Jordan up, when, fired with drought,

He trusts to turn its current down his throat;

In lessened waves it creeps along the plain,

He sinks a river, and he thirsts again. EDWARD YOUNG (1684-1765).

A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE ME.

(From Job.)

A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld
The face of immortality unveil d—
Deep sleep came down on every 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:

"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!" LORD BYRON (1788-1824).

LEGEND OF IYOB THE UPRIGHT.

(From "The Son of a Prophet.")

THE mountains talk of Ben Rahah, And the caves of Argob have their heroes;

Kenath and Batanah and Salkad exult,
They rejoice in their favorite sons.
But our lance is one, it is Uz of the
fathers,

When we speak the name of Iyob.
He dwelt long ago in the south land:
Iyob the Upright, the prince of his
people,

Rich in sons and daughters.

His oxen ploughed from desert to mountain,

His camels traded from sea to sea;
The wealth of a tribe his she-asses,
The clothing a nation his sheep.
But men named him not for his wealth;
All knew him as Iyob the Upright.
He feared Eloah the God of his fathers,
The God of Esau, the son of Abraham.
With sacrifices he looked to the Maker
of the heavens,

And sanctified his house with burntofferings.

When he came to the cities, he sat in the gates;

For he judged righteous judgment. When he passed through the land there was joy;

For the poor were made rich by his bounty.

Of the sons of the East the greatest,
Of all he was best and most blessed:
Men said, "Be righteous and be as Iyob."
Then a marvel:

In a day his riches took wings.
The Sabeans came from afar,

The swords of the bands of the Chaldeans.

Oxen and asses and camels were gone, Snatched by the plunderers.

Fire fell from heaven;

The sheep were consumed at one offering.

One only escaped to bring each tale of disaster.

Then another came, telling a tale more awful:

"Thy sons and thy daughters were feasting together,

And now together they are not.

The house was crushed by the cyclone,
Its walls are now their tomb."
Then rose up Iyob the Upright,
And bowed before God and worshipped:
"Naked came I from my mother's

womb,

And naked shall I return.
Eloah gave, Eloah hath taken;
Lo, I am thy servant, Eloah!"

Again a blow, and men said, "Can this be Iyob the Upright?" With sore disease he was smitten: A festering outcast he sat among the ashes.

Of the thousands who had waited his

will,

His wife alone now served him.

"And shall we not receive evil?"

And yet once more he was crushed. The multitude had fled with his wealth; The contempt of the proud had come with his sores.

Yet he said, "I can bear it;

My true friends still trust me." Then these friends appointed to meet him,

And came and sat down in his presence. Eliphaz the seer came from Teman, Bildad from Shuah, and Zophar from Naamah.

Seven days they sat and spake not, Then they opened their mouths andrebuked him:

His trusted friends, his last hope on

earth, condemned him.

He had sinned and was hiding his evil; Let him confess and return to Eloah. But he knew himself Iyob the Upright, And would none of their charges of evil.

Nay, but it must be; only guilt could bring suffering,

Could have brought such sudden destruction

Let him pretend no more to be upright,
But repent that God might have mercy.
In vain he protested innocence,

In vain he appealed to their mercy:
They were deaf to his cries.

He himself or Eloah who smote him,
The man or his Maker had done wicked-

ness.

Should mortal man be more just than God?

Should a man be more pure than his Maker?

Then the bitterness of Iyob was utter: But still he was Iyob the Upright. He opened his mouth and spake: "Though Eloah slay me, yet will I trust him:

I fear, I adore, I will not forsake him." Lo, then a whirlwind, and the voice of Eloah!

"Behold Iyob, I have owned him; He speaketh of me the thing that is right,

JOB xxiii: 8-10.

FORWARD I now in duties go,

But O, my Saviour is not there! Heavy He makes me drive, and slow, Without the chariot-wheels of prayer.

I look to former times, and strain
The footsteps of my God to trace;
Backward I go (but still in vain)
To find the tokens of His grace.

Surrounded by His power I stand;
His work on other souls I see;
He deals His gifts on either hand,
But still He hides Himself from me.

Groaning, I languish at His stay,

But He regards my every groan: Dark and disconsolate my way,

But still my way to Him is known. When fully He my faith hath tried,

Like gold I in the fire shall shine, Come forth when seven times purified, And strongly bear the stamp divine. CHARLES WESLEY (1708-1788).

Thence he maketh a weight for the winds as they sweep,

Thence weigheth the waters by meas

ure,

When he made a decree that controuleth the deep,

And stampt on the thunder his pleas

ure.

Then he searched it, and saw it, and uttered the word,

To man his high precept commanding, "Behold that is wisdom, the fear of the Lord;

And from evil to fly, understanding." WILLIAM SOTHEBY (1757-1833).

JOB.

WERE I to turn the vast historic page,
In search of highest human worth,
Where could I find so luminous an orb—
To shed such radiant beams on earth-
As in the patient sufferings of Job?
Of Edom once a mighty Prince
Who perhaps in wealth, in goodness-
wisdom-

Power-ne'er hath been equalled since. Behold the piety of this exalted man! And see him hurled in one short hour From greatness, glory, majesty, and

pomp;

From wealth, from happiness, and power!

There's not a murmur issues from his lips!

He who in regal splendour shone So lately-surrounded by a comely race Of offspring-now is left aloneAnd desolate-and poor-without one child

To soothe him with a fond caressTo catch the drops that down his cheeks must fall

And say, my father, still I thee can bless!

Oh! this desolation of a parent's heart Must be unutterably keen!

No tongue can tell no soul conceive the woe

The bitter woe-this must have been! But here, alas! did not his trials end: With anguish must his frame be

torn

Disease that's loathsome - horrible -that bids

SLY Beelzebub took all occasions
To try Job's constancy and patience;
He took his honours, took his health,
He took his children, took his wealth,
His camels, horses, asses, cows-

And the sly Devil did not take his spouse.

But Heaven that brings out good from evil,

And loves to disappoint the Devil,
Had predetermined to restore
Twofold all Job had before,
His children, camels, horses, cows,-
Short-sighted Devil, not to take his
spouse!

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
(1772-1834).

THE POETS OF OLD ISRAEL.
OLD Israel's readers of the stars,
I love them best. Musing, they read,
In embers of the heavenly hearth,
High truths were never learned below.
They asked not of the barren sands,
They questioned not that stretch of
death;

But upward from the humble tent
They took the stairway of the hills;
Upward they climbed, bold in their trust,
To pluck the glory of the stars.
Faith falters, knowledge does not know,
Fast, one by one, the phantoms fade;
Eut that strange light, unwavering love,
Grasped from the lowered hand of God,
Abides, quenchless forevermore.

JOHN VANCE CHENEY (1848–).