Classic Poem

Lo , I, the man, who by the wrath of God
Have seen affliction's storms, and felt His rod!
He hath depriv'd me of the cheerful light,
Envelopéd with shades more dark than night,
Against me His revengeful forces bent;
Nor sets His anger with the sun's descent.
My flesh hath wasted, wrinkled my smooth skin
With sorrow's age, and broke my bones within.
Against me digg'd a trench, cast up a mound,
With travail's bitter gall besieg'd me round.
Imprison'd where no beams their brightness shed,
Like that dark region peopled by the dead.
On ev'ry side my flight with bars restrains,
And clogs my galléd legs with massy chains.
Who stops His ears against my cries and pray'rs,
With stone immures, and spreads my path with snares.
He like a bear or lion lies in wait,
Diverts, in pieces tears, leaves desolate.
At me, as at a mark, His bow He drew,
Whose arrows in my blood their wings imbrew.
He lets the people circle me in throngs,
Who all the day deride with spiteful songs.
With wormwood made me drunk, with gall hath fed,
My teeth with gravel broke, with ashes spread.
My soul to peace is such a stranger grown,
As if I never better days had known.
When I my wrongs to memory recall,
My miseries, my wormwood, and my gall,
My passions thus exclaim: Ah! perishéd
Are all my hopes! from me my strength is fled!
These thoughts my soul have humbled, trod to earth
My pride, and giv'n my hopes a second birth.
'Twas Thy abundant goodness, Lord, that all
Did not together in one ruin fall.
Thy mercies with the rising light renew,
And Thy fidelity, as large as true.
My soul is arm'd with stedfast confidence,
Since Thou my portion art, and strong defence.
To those how gracious who on Thee rely!
Who seek Thee with unfainting industry!
'Tis good to hope and rest upon Thy truth,
'Tis good to bear Thy yoke in early youth.
Alone he silent sits, nor will distrust
Thy promise when he hides his head in dust.
His cheek submits to blows, by all revil'd,
Yet knows at length Thou wilt be reconcil'd.
When God with grief hath fixt thee to the ground.
His mercy will pour balm into thy wound.
For He delights not in our misery,
On those to trample who in fetters lie;
Hates that the weak should be oppress'd by might,
Or justice suffer in the judge's sight.
O tell, what can befall beneath the sun,
That is not by the Lord's appointment done?
Both good and bad from Him proceeds; why then
Grudge you at punishment, vain sinful men?
Turn we to God by trial of our ways;
To heav'n our hearts, our hands, and voices raise.
We have transgress'd, rebell'd; no pardon gain;
The food of wrath; by Thee pursu'd and slain.
Thou hast with clouds. Thyself inclos'd of late,
Through which no pray'rs of ours can penetrate.
With men the refuse and offscouring made,
Whom all our foes with open mouths upbraid.
Fill'd with vastation, ruins, snares, and fears,
While for my children's loss I melt in tears.
Nor shall those briny rivers cease to flow,
Till God look down with pity on our woe.
Mine eye, ah! wounds my heart, when I behold
My city's daughters to afflictions sold.
Those who thy beauty, Solyma, deface,
My soul like a retrievéd partridge chase:
Cut from the living, in a dungeon thrown,
And overwhelméd with a pile of stone.
Storms o'er my head their rolling billows tost;
Then cried I: Ah! I am for ever lost!
Thou from the dungeon, Lord, my cries didst hear;
O never from my sighs divert Thine ear!
Thou stood'st beside me in that horrid day,
And said'st: Take courage, nor thy fear obey.
My cause, Thou, Lord, hast pleaded in this strife,
And from their greedy jaws redeem'd my life.
Thou that hast seen my wrongs, restore my right;
Thou hast their vengeance seen and curséd spite;
The malice heard which their false tongues disclose,
The thoughts and machinations of my foes.
When they sit down, and when they rise, I still
Become their music, and their laughter fill.
Rewards according to their works disburse;
Their hearts with sorrow wound, blast with Thy curse.
Pursue, destroy; nor, Lord, Thy wrath restrain,
Till none beneath the arch of heav'n remain.