Classic Poem

" THIS is a truth acknowledg'd, " Job replies,
" But O! what man is righteous in His eyes?
Who can " not guilty" plead before His throne,
Or of a thousand actions answer one?
God is in wisdom, as in pow'r, immense:
Who ever could contend without offence,
Offend unpunish'd? You who glory most
In your own strength, can you of conquest boast?
Cloud-touching mountains to new seats are borne,
From their foundations by His fury torn.
Th' affrighted earth in her distemper quakes,
When His Almighty Hand her pillars shakes.
At Whose command the sun's swift horses stay,
While mortals wonder at so long a day.
The moon into her darken'd orb retires,
Nor seal'd-up stars extend their golden fires.
He, only He, heav'n's blue pavilion spreads,
And on the ocean's dancing billows treads.
Immane Arcturus, weeping Pleiades,
Orion, who with storms ploughs up the seas,
For sev'ral seasons fram'd; and all that roll
Their radiant flames about th' antarctic pole.
What wonders are effected by His might!
O how inscrutable, how infinite!
Though He observe me, and be ever by,
Yet ah! invisible to mortal eye.
Can hands of flesh compel Him to restore
What He shall take? or who dare ask wherefore?
The great in pride and pow'r like meteors shall
(If He relent not) by His vengeance fall.
And O! shall I, a worm, my cause defend,
Or in vain argument with God contend?
I would not were I innocent dispute,
But humbly to my Judge present my suit.
Yet never could my hopes be confident,
Though God Himself should to my wish consent,
Who with incessant storms my peace confounds,
And multiplies my undeserved wounds,
Nor gives me time to breathe; my stomach fills
With good of bitter taste and loathsome pills.
Speak I of strength, His strength the strong obey:
If I of judgment speak, who shall a day
Appoint for trial? should I justify
A vice, my heart would give my tongue the lie.
If of perfection boast, I should herein
My guilt disclose: thought I, I had no sin,
Myself I should not know. O bitter strife,
Whose only issue is the hate of life!
Yet judge not by events: in general,
The good and bad without distinction fall.
For He th' appeal of innocence derides,
And with His sword the controverse decides.
He gives the earth to those that tyrannise,
And spreads a veil before the judges' eyes.
Or else what were His pow'r? O you who see
My miseries, this truth behold in me!
My days run like a post, and leave behind
No tract of joy: as ships before the wind
They through this human ocean sail away,
And fly like eagles which pursue their prey.
If I determine to remove my care,
Forget my grief, and comfort my despair,
The fear that He would never purge me mocks
M' embarked hopes, and drives them on the rocks.
For if He hold me guilty, if I soil
Myself with sin, I then but vainly toil.
Though I should wash myself in melting snow
Until my hands were whiter, He would throw
Me down to earth, and ah! so plunge in mire,
That I should loathe to touch my own attire.
For He is not as I, a man with whom
I might contend, and to a trial come.
I in my cause shall find no advocate,
Nor umpire to compose our sad debate.
O! should He from my shoulders take His rod,
Free from the awe and terror of a God,
Then would I argue in my own defence,
And boldly justify my innocence.