Job :: :: University of Virginia Library

Job

A Poem. In Three Books. By William Langhorne

Langhorne, John (1735-1779)

II.

III.

BOOK III.

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BOOK III.

'Twas then Elihu rose, (of Nahor's Line:)
His Soul was fill'd with Energy divine:
With just Resentment all his Bosom glow'd,
That Job should vindicate himself, not God.
Nor fail'd his Anger at those Friends to burn,
Who silent now, no Answer could return.

A Youth Elihu was, of comely Face:
And, shining with fair Fame's unspotted Grace,
He thus.—“Green Years may bear the mellow Fruit,
And Wisdom's Lore from Inspiration shoot.
Long Age this Heart was willing to revere,
And hop'd the pow'rful Voice of Truth to hear.
But Years the Palm of Truth not always boast,
And in the Pomp of Pow'r is Wisdom lost.
The Glare of Pride, a Series of Success,
And Adulation, Reason's Pow'r oppress.
When Flatt'ry's Balm I pour upon the Great,
May God the Wishes of my Soul defeat!

Th' all-knowing Mind that form'd me, has inspir'd;
Heav'n-taught, for Heav'n I plead, as Job requir'd.
No Terror here shall crush thee with Dismay;
I too am cloath'd in perishable Clay.

Hast thou then said, “My Innocence is clear,
“Complete my Virtue can no Trial fear?

“Behold th' Almighty casts the poison'd Dart,
“With cruel Sorrows to tranfix this Heart.”

Wrong is thy Plea: Th' Almighty Ruler's just,
But his great Thoughts discloses not to Dust.
Whene'er he deigns in Visions of the Night
To dart Instruction's Rays on human Sight,
He wills to bring the tow'ring Purpose low,
Points out some Pit, or checks some deadly Foe.

Whene'er he visits us with Racks of Pain,
And speeds the rapid Fever in each Vein,
Our drossy Souls the potent Fire refines,
Till the bright Ore in polish'd Beauty shines.
Then Mercy's smiling Form shall Joy restore,
And we the gracious Hand that smote adore.

If Man the Error of his Ways confess,
Each Virtue brighten, and each Wrong redress,

Then God from Mis'ry's Jaws will snatch his Soul,
And endless Blessings on his Head shall roll.

Mark well, O Job, my Speech; and yet reply,
If thou this sacred Doctrine canst deny.—

To you, ye wise of Heart, my Thoughts appeal,
The Ray of Truth your generous Bosoms feel.
Shall wretched Job this virtuous Praise decline,
And, 'mid his Woes, impeach the Truth Divine?

Ye wild Suspicions of Injustice, fly,
Nor madly brave the Ruler of the Sky.
Shall the supreme Possessor wish for more?
Shall Bribes increase his still-exub'rant store?
Before what great Superior shall He fall,
Whose Pow'r ineffable created all?

If to a Point high Heav'n contracts our Span,
Withdraws the Spirit that was breath'd in Man,

Strait shall the falling Species spread the Plain,
And to their Kindred Dust return again.

Presum'st thou to an earthly Prince to say,
Unjust thy Reign, and cruel is thy Sway?
And shall thy Censure bold that Monarch scan,
Who views with equal Eyes each State of Man?
Whose Favours wide as boundless Nature fall,
Whose Works impartial speak the God of all.

Each artful Path of Vice that Mind must know,
Which sees the Heights above, the Depths below.
No false Grimaces, no involv'd Deceit,
No Combinations of th' oppressing Great,
Can e'er conceal'd in fraudful Mazes lie,
Or 'scape unseen the all-pervading Eye.

He pitying hears deserted Grief complain,
And sends sweet Hope to sooth the Captive's Chain.

He wills—fair Peace extends her downy Wings:
He wills—stern War the Torch of Terror flings.

Revere his Knowledge, and adore his Pow'r,
O Job, amidst Affliction's fiery Show'r.
Resign'd, thy Sorrows bear: Offend no more:
And Hope will soon unbar her golden Door.

The vain Perverseness of resisting see!
Canst thou defeat all-righteous Heav'n's Decree?

Behold, the Heav'ns sublime in Glory shine,
Say, can thy Sins affect the Bliss Divine?
Can in that God vindictive Fury glow,
Who with a Word commands the Things below?
Or can thy Truth his Happiness increase,
Who reigns the Lord of Life, the Prince of Peace?

Men may to Men the direst Curses prove,
Thro' Scenes of Murder and Oppression rove:

Mean-while their Hearts forget that Heav'nly Pow'r,
Who sooths with Harmony the slumb'ring Hour;
Whose Love illumes Mankind with Reason's Ray,
And opes, to Brutes unknown, fair Virtue's Way.

Tho' Heav'n the vain Petition will not hear,
Nor at thy Call the King of Saints appear;
Yet in bright Equity's Tribunal trust,
Severe she will not mark imperfect Dust.”

Here stopp'd the glowing Youth's prophetic Rage,
To find the Sanction of approving Age—
Then, with fresh Truths inspir'd, he forward ran,
“To vindicate the Ways of God to Man.”

“Th' eternal Mind, that form'd, will ne'er despise:
Can Wrong pervert th' All-pow'rful and All-wise?
Oft now the wicked feels His dreadful Dart;
On all He will perform what now He acts in Part.

Oft now the Righteous sits in royal State,
And future Glories all the Just await.

Is any good Man bound in Chains of Woe?
Thence shall his Soul more finish'd Virtue know;
Thence brighter shall his Faith and Resignation glow.
By Grief, the dawning Goodness of the Mind,
Purg'd from it's Spots, shall clearer Radiance find.
Then on it's Progress fair the Heav'ns shall smile,
And bless the Produce of it's grateful Toil.

But while the false, the hard of Heart endure
The Pangs of Pain, no Blessing they procure:
From Wrath to Wrath, from Grief to Grief they go,
And feel the Preludes of eternal Woe.

Afflicted Prince, yet profit by thy Pain;
Nor e'er the righteous Ways of God arraign.
Hadst thou not utter'd the repining Groan,
E'er now His Aid thy falt'ring Steps had known,
And round thy Head rekindling Glory shone.

Why dost thou wrestle with the Pow'r supreme?
To break his steely Fetters dost thou dream?
Why dost thou Death's destroying Hand implore?
Repentance never opes His ebon Door.

Now the great Works of God His Impress show,
And now we rev'rence what we ne'er can know.
Dar'st thou attempt Eternity's Profound?
Or measure with thy Line what knows no Bound?
See falling Clouds dissolv'd in genial Rain,
Or rise attracted from the humid Main!
Now from the Clouds tremendous Thunders speak,
And swift-wing'd Hurricanes the Nations shake.
While the red Lightning's Flash the Welkin cleaves,
Appall'd my shudd'ring Soul the Stroke receives:
While issues forth the dreadful, bursting Roar,
Aghast, I fear that Nature is no more.
The Beasts astonish'd seek their gloomy Caves;
No living Soul th' impetuous Horrors braves.

But view a softer Scene—The flaky Snow
Prepares her nitrous Treasures to bestow.
The Breath of God pervades the wat'ry Plains,
And binds their fluid Forms in silent Chains;
Till the kind Influence of the Southern Gale
New Life inspires, and the strong Fetters fail.

In pleasing Changes thus the Seasons roll,
Fulfil the Purpose of Creation's Soul;
Wisdom Supreme declare in Accents loud;
Revive the Humble, and controul the Proud.

Yet, Job, reflect—
If thou perceiv'st not how the Clouds of Air,
Pent in their Folds, can heavier Waters bear;
And if thou know'st not how the Skill Divine
Makes the blue Æther like a Mirror shine:
How shalt thou search the Secrets of His Reign?
Vain is the tow'ring Thought, each Effort vain.”

'Twas here Elihu ceas'd his heav'nly Lore.
Behold him now in suppliant Guise adore
Th' approaching Symbol of Almighty Pow'r.

The Whirlwinds roar, the trembling Mountains nod,
Then to the Patriarch speaks the Voice of God.

“How dares thy swelling Pride, short-sighted Man,
The Counsels of Omnipotence to scan?
Now summon all thy vaunted Pow'rs, and tell
Where wast thou when the Line on Chaos fell;
When the great Deep my forming Voice obey'd,
When the Foundations of the World were laid?
Say on what Springs it's fair Proportions hung,
When all the Sons of God in Chorus sung,
And with the gladsome Strains the Roofs of Æther rung?

When from th' Abyss fierce-sprung th' impetuous Wave,
Who to young Ocean's Flood the Barrier gave?

Who hollow'd out the Main's capacious Bed,
While o'er his infant Face the Veil was spread?
What Voice but mine could to his Billows say,
These Bounds, these Bars your madd'ning Course shall stay,
And, lo! the dread Command the furious Floods obey.

Say, at thy Call does yellow Morning rise
T' illume the Ends of Earth, to gild the Skies?
The lurking Wretch detests the darting Beam,
A Blessing to the World, but Curse to him.
Thus the proud Looks, appall'd, my Terrors feel,
As the soft Wax receives the forming Seal.

Hast thou explor'd the Sources of the Deep,
Seen Death's black Portal, known that shadowy Sleep?
Has Earth's small Globe confess'd thy bounding Line?
How shalt thou then aspire to Things divine?
Will Light's all-chearing Rays attend thy Call?
For thee will unessential Darkness fall?

Didst thou exist before the Lamp of Day?
Or whence proceeds thy boasted Wisdom, say?
When to the fleecy Treasures of the Snow;
Or to the Stores of Hail when didst thou go?
Know'st thou the bellowing Thunder's dreadful Force?
Or canst thou stay the rapid Lightning's Course?
Th' Artill'ry these, that move at my Command,
To shake their Horrors on a guilty Land.
On Wind's resistless Wings when didst thou fly?
When deal the genial Waters from the Sky?

Has thy Domain, and not the Forest wild
With fav'ring Dews and fresh'ning Herbage smil'd?
To countless Drops who breaks the rushing Store?
Who spreads the icy Robe, or Mantle hoar?
From thee do Pleiads kind their Influence boast?
Or can thy Voice unbind Orion's Frost?
Is it for thee the Constellations roll?
For thee does Mazzaroth gild the southern Pole?

Is it for thee Arcturus' Sons display
On Night's reviving Face their northern Ray?
Dost thou the Laws of heav'nly Kingdoms know?
Or wilt thou with the Stars their radiant Journey go?

Will the big Clouds obey thy firm Decree?
Or will the forky Lightnings play for thee?
What Pow'r inform'd the Mind with Wisdom's Ray?
With Reason's Torch illum'd a Form of Clay?
Canst thou with tyrant Pow'r keep back the Rain,
When groan the thirsty Furrows of the Plain?

Will the young Lion's Heart extol thy Care?
Wilt thou the Raven's hoarse Petition hear?
Will the wild Goat in yeaning bless thy Aid?
Or seeks the Fawn from thee the tender Blade?
Who freed the Zebra from th' imperious Rein,
And gave the Mountains wild for his Demesne?
Will the Rhinoceros plow th' extended Field?
Wilt thou to him the Cares of Harvest yield?

From thee do Pheasants boast each glossy dye?
Or with thy Plumage does the Ostrich fly?
Her promis'd Brood the genial Sun-beams warm,
And from the vagrant Foot she dreads no Harm.
When the swift Steerage leads her airy Course,
She scorns the Rider, and the warrior Horse.

Whence boasts the warrior Horse his Vigour young?
Hast thou his haughty Neck with Light'ning hung?
Like some vile Insect's, canst thou crush his Frame,
When his fierce Nostrils dart the living Flame?
With snorting Pride he paws the dusty Field;
To meet the Foe he asks no seven-fold Shield.
When Terror waves his Torch, he mocks at Fear,
Regards no twanging Bow, no glitt'ring Spear.
He dances to the Trumpet's martial Sound;
With gen'rous Rage he swallows up the Ground:
Drinks in the Tumults of the Fight afar,
The Clang of Arms and Thunder of the War.

Dost thou direct the Falcon's tow'ring Way,
Or teach the Hawk to stoop upon her Prey?
At thy Suggestion does yon Eagle fly,
To reach the Rocks, and fix her Dome on high?
The falling Carcase for her Young she 'spies,
And all the Horrors of the War defies.

What Soul a Blemish in my Works can find,
Or dare to grapple with the perfect Mind?”

Abash'd, the Patriarch said in humble Strain,
Silence shall seal my Lips.—

The Whirlwinds roar, the trembling Mountains nod,
In Majesty proceeds the Voice of God.

“Say, when a loftier Stretch thy Folly tries,
Shall heav'nly Wisdom sink that Dust may rise?
From thee, or from thy God do Light'nings beam?
Or canst thou thunder with a Voice like him?

Now let Perfection on thy Helmet shine,
And cloath thyself with Majesty divine.
Let thy dread Anger rage with Vengeance loud;
Smite on his Throne the Tyrant; crush the Proud:
Their struggling Souls in Chains resistless bind,
Then from himself shall Job Salvation find.

Now turn thy circling Wing to Earth again,
And walk with Behemoth the wond'ring Plain.
Tho' river-born, he leaves the sportive Floods,
On Herbage feeds, and crops the blooming Woods.
While Bars of Steel support his scaly Chine,
He feels the Terrors of no Sword but mine.
In Majesty of Length behold him laid
On the crush'd Reeds, or wanton in the Shade.
Wide o'er the gushing Streams his Eye-balls smile;
His thirsty Jaws, he trusts, can drain the Nile.

Say, dreads Leviathan the gilded Snare?
Will Art the length'ning Cord for him prepare?

Will his imperial Heart thy Grace implore,
Or in submissive Guise attend thy Door?
In sportive Gambols will he dance for Hire;
Or meet in Traffic's Day the Sons of Tyre?
The barbed Irons does thy Courage dart?
Vain is the Contest, vain thy vaunted Art.
Who dares disturb the wat'ry Monarch's Sleep,
Or stir his Wrath to shake the foamy Deep?
Lo, from his Threats astonish'd Mortals fly,
And shall they brave the Sovereign of the Sky?
To whom shall I the Palm of Pow'r resign,
When all beneath the vaulted Heav'ns is mine?
This Son of Pow'r in high Derision holds
The lifted Spear that threats his scaly Folds.
Wilt thou the Pressure of his Teeth abide,
Or darken with a Frown his glist'ring Pride,
Or his surrounding Armour will thy Hand divide?
His Eyes fresh-burning from the Flood survey
Stretch their wide Orbs like those that ope the Day.

His issuing Breath projects the wavy Flame,
The Air glows kindling with the furious Stream.
Strength in his wide-spread Chest exulting dwells,
In dauntless Thoughts his lofty Heart excels.
Whene'er he rouses from his wat'ry Bed,
Where pointed Flints and ragged Rocks are spread,
He laughs at Swords, he scorns the steely Shower,
Securely wrapt in Confidence of Power.
Whene'er he moves, the whit'ning Ocean boils,
And to the low Abyss his frighted Flood recoils.”

Then Job reply'd, low-bending to the Throne,
“Resistless Pow'r belongs to Thee alone:
The deep-embow'ring Shades, the darkest Night
Conceal no Sinner from thy piercing Sight.
My trembling Soul attempts no more to find
Th' unbounded Reach of thy creative Mind.
How short aspiring Reason's vaunted Line,
When stretch'd to search thy Ways, thy Works divine!”

The Suff'rer ceas'd, by conscious Fear represt,
And the mute Eye of Silence spoke the rest.
When, lo! the Smiles of Peace and Joy restor'd,
Raptur'd he felt the Goodness he ador'd.
The Train of Want, Disease and Woe depart;
The Tide of Health springs trembling to his Heart.
Again with Wealth his princely Courts abound,
And a long Race with Strength and Beauty crown'd.
His Fame thro' Death the sacred Muse conveys,
And Job dies, old in Virtue, and in Days.

Elihu was the Son of Barachel, who was a Descendant of Buz, the Son of Naber, who was Brother to Abraham.