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 | The man of Uz, and other poems |  |
Jehovah ceas'd,—for the Omniscient Eye
That scans the inmost thought of man, discern'd
Its work completed in that lowliness
Of deep humility which fits the soul
For heavenly intercourse, and renovates
The blessed image of obedient love
That Eden forfeited.
Out of the depths
Of true contrition sigh'd a trembling tone
In utter abnegation,
“I repent!
In dust and ashes. I abhor myself.”
—Thus the returning prodigal who cries
Unclothed and empty, “Father! I have sinn'd,
And am not worthy to be called thy son,”
Finds full forgiveness, and a free embrace,
While the best robe his shrinking form enfolds.
That scans the inmost thought of man, discern'd
Its work completed in that lowliness
Of deep humility which fits the soul
For heavenly intercourse, and renovates
The blessed image of obedient love
That Eden forfeited.
Out of the depths
Of true contrition sigh'd a trembling tone
In utter abnegation,
“I repent!
In dust and ashes. I abhor myself.”
53
Unclothed and empty, “Father! I have sinn'd,
And am not worthy to be called thy son,”
Finds full forgiveness, and a free embrace,
While the best robe his shrinking form enfolds.
But with this self-abasement toward his God
Job mingled tenderest regard for man.
No longer with indignant warmth he strove
Against his false accusers, or retained
Rankling remembrance of the enmity
That vexed his wounded soul
With earnest prayers
And offerings, he implored offended Heaven
To grant forgiveness to those erring friends,
Paying with love the alienated course
Of their misguided minds.
Heaven heard his voice,
And with that intercession sweet, return'd
The sunbeams of his lost prosperity.
Back came his buried joys. They had no power
To harm a soul subdued. The refluent tide
Of wealth swept o'er him. On his many hills
Gathered the herds, and o'er his pastures green
Sported the playful lambs. The tuneful voice
Of children fill'd his desolate home with joy,
And round his household board their beauty gleam'd,
Making his spirit glad.
So full of days,
While twice our span of threescore years and ten,
Mark'd out its silvery chronicle of moons
Still to his knee his children's children climb'd
To hear the wisdom he had learned of God
Through the strong teaching both of joy and woe.
Job mingled tenderest regard for man.
No longer with indignant warmth he strove
Against his false accusers, or retained
Rankling remembrance of the enmity
That vexed his wounded soul
With earnest prayers
And offerings, he implored offended Heaven
To grant forgiveness to those erring friends,
Paying with love the alienated course
Of their misguided minds.
Heaven heard his voice,
And with that intercession sweet, return'd
The sunbeams of his lost prosperity.
Back came his buried joys. They had no power
To harm a soul subdued. The refluent tide
Of wealth swept o'er him. On his many hills
Gathered the herds, and o'er his pastures green
Sported the playful lambs. The tuneful voice
Of children fill'd his desolate home with joy,
And round his household board their beauty gleam'd,
Making his spirit glad.
54
While twice our span of threescore years and ten,
Mark'd out its silvery chronicle of moons
Still to his knee his children's children climb'd
To hear the wisdom he had learned of God
Through the strong teaching both of joy and woe.
| The man of Uz, and other poems | |