Classic Poem

Spake the Lord to His suffering servant,
The mild-mannered martyr of Uz,
From the midst of the turbulent tempest—
As the Lord most generally does:

“Who is this that darkeneth counsel
By words without knowledge or sense?
Where wert thou when I laid the foundations
Of earth in the darkness intense?

“When the morning stars chanted together,
And my suns shouted loudly for glee?
When I made the cloud-garment of ocean,
And his limits did fix and decree?

“Hast thou ever commanded the dawning
By the light of thy signified grace?
Didst thou cause by thy precepts and teaching
The dayspring to know his own place?

“Unto thee have the gates of death opened?
Hast thou seen the door's shadow thereof?
And the dwellings of light and of darkness—
Their places, dost know aught whereof?

“Who gendered the hoar-frost of heaven?
Out of whose womb cometh the ice?
Will the waters pour forth their abundance
From the clouds at the sound of thy voice?

“Canst thou bind the sweet power of Pleiad?
The bands of Orion unband?
Canst thou send forth the thunder and lightning,
Or hold them sedate in thy hand?

“Shall he that contendeth instruct Me?
His duty to God shall he tell?
Let him that reproves the Almighty
Make answer—and answer it well!”

Thus spake the Lord out of the whirlwind
To the mild-mannered martyr of Uz;
But the Lord asked too many questions,
As, somehow, the Lord always does!

Yet now, if He'd speak in a zephyr,
The mildest that blows o'er the bay,
He'd get answers to all of His queries
Ere the sound of His voice died away!