Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Elihu , thus his pausing lips againe
Disclos'd, & said, (rash Job) dost thou maintaine
A rightfull cause, which in conclusion, must
Avow thee blamelesse, and thy God unjust?
Thy lawlesse words implying, that it can
Advantage none to live an upright man?
My tongue shall schoole thee, and thy friends, that would
(Perchance) refell thy reasons, if they could:
Behold thy glorious Makers greatnesse, see
The power of his hand; say then, can He
Be damag'd by thy sinne, or can He raise
Advantage, by the uprightnesse of thy wayes?

True, the afflicted languish oft in griefe,
And roare to heaven (unanswer'd) for reliefe,
Yet is not Heaven unjust, for their fond cry
Their sinne bewailes not, but their misery.
Cease then to make him guilty of thy crimes,
And waite his pleasure, that's not bound to times,
Nor heares vaine words. The sorrowes thou art in
Are sleight, or nothing, ballanc'd with thy sin:

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Thy lips accuse thee, and thy foolish tongue,
To right thy selfe, hath done th'Almighty wrong.

Hold back thine answer, let thy flowing streame
Find passage, to surround my fruitfull Theame;
I'le raise my thoughts, to plead my Makers case,
And speake, as shall befit so high a place:
Behold th'Almighitie's meeke as well as strong,
Destroyes the wicked, rights the just mans wrong,
Mounts him to honour; If by chance he stray,
Instructs, and shewes him where he lost his way:
If he returne, his blessing shall encrease,
Crowning his joyes with plenty and sweet peace;
If not, th'intailed sword shall ne're depart
His stained house, but pierce his hardned heart;
Ah sinfull Iob! these plagues had never bin,
Had'st thou beene guiltlesse (as thou boasts) of sin:
But thy proud lips against their Maker plead,
And draw downe heapes of vengeance on thy head:
Looke to thy selfe, seek not to understand
The secret causes of th'Eternals hand;
Let wisdome make the best of misery,
Know who inflicts it, aske no reason why:
He will's beyond thy reach, and his Divine
And sacred knowledge farre surpasseth thine,
Ah! rather, praise him in his workes, that lye
(Wide open to the world) before thine eye;
His meaner Acts, our highest thoughts o'retops,
He pricks the clouds, stils down the raine by drops;
Who comprehends the lightning, or the thunder?
Who sees, who heares thē, unamaz'd with wonder?

My troubled heart chils in my quivering brest,
To relish these things, and is dispossest
Of all her powers: who ever heard the voyce
Of th'angry heavens, unfrighted at the noyse?

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The beast by nature daz'd with sudden dread,
Seekes out for covert to secure his head:
If God command, the dusky clouds march forth
Into a Tempest; From the freezing North
He beckens Frost and Snow; and from the South
He bloweth Whirlewinds with his angry Mouth.
Presumptuous Job! if thou canst not aspire
So high, to comprehend these things, admire.
Know'st thou the progresse of the rambling clouds?
From mortal eyes, when gloomy darkness shrouds
The lamps of heaven? know'st thou the reason why?
Can'st thou unriddle heavens Philosophy?
Know'st thou th'unconstant nature of the weather?
Or whence so many Winds proceed, and whither
Wer't thou made privy, or a stander-by,
When God stretcht forth his spangled Canopy?
Submit thy selfe, and let these secrets teach,
How farre his Myst'ries doe surmount thy reach:
For Hee's Almighty, and his sacred will
Is just, nor renders an unearned ill:
His workes are objects for no soaring eyes,
But wheresoe're he lookes, he findes none wise.