Who gives his tongue a loose so bold and vain, Censures my conduct, and reproves my reign. Lifts up his thought against me from the dust, And tells the world's Creator what is just : Of late so brave, now lift a dauntless eye, Face my demand, and give it a reply— Where didst thou dwell at Nature's early birth? Who laid foundations for the spacious earth? Who on its surface did extend the line, Its form determine, and its bulk confine? Who fix'd the corner-stone? What hand, declare, Hung it on nought, and fasten'd it on air, When the bright morning stars in concert sung, When heaven's high arch with loud hosannas rung, When shouting sons of God the triumph crown'd, And the wide concave thunder'd with the sound? and, like the tragedies of old Greece, is fiction built on truth. Probably this most noble part of it, the Almighty speaking out of the whirlwind (so suitable to the after-practice of the Greek stage, when there happened dignus vindice nodus) is fictitious; but it is a fiction more agreeable to the time in which Job lived than to any since. Frequent before the law were the appearances of the Almighty after this manner, Exod. ch. xix. Ezek. ch. 1, &c. Hence is he said to dwell in thick darkness; and have his way in the whirlwind. Earth's num'rous kingdoms, hast thou view'd them all? And can thy span of knowledge grasp the ball? Who, stretching forth his sceptre o'er the deep, I chain'd them with my word: the boiling sea, * There is a very great air in all that precedes, but this is signally sublime. We are struck with admiration to see the vast and ungovernable ocean receiving commands, and punctually obeying them; to find it like a managed horse, raging, tossing, and foaming, but by the rule and direction of its master. This passage yields in sublimity to that of Let there be light, &c. so much only, as the absolute government of nature yields to the creation of it. The like spirit in these two passages is no bad concurrent argument that Moses is author of the book of Job. Those gloomy paths did thy bold foot e'er tread, Where dwells the Light? in what refulgent dome? And where has darkness made her dismal home? Thou know'st, no doubt, since thy large heart is fraught With ripen'd wisdom, through long ages brought, Since Nature was call'd forth when thou wast by, And into being rose beneath thine eye! Are mists begotten? who their father knew? A sudden desart spreads o'er realms defac❜d, And when day triumphs in meridian light, Put forth thy hand and shade the world with night? To check the shower who lifts his hand on high, My fund of vengeance for the day of war, When clouds rain death, and storms, at my command, Rage through the world, or waste a guilty land. Who taught the rapid winds to fly so fast; Or shakes the centre with his eastern blast? Who from the skies can a whole deluge pour? Who on low earth can moderate the rein That guides the stars along th' ethereal plain? ? Dost thou pronounce where Daylight shall be born, And draw the purple curtains of the Morn? Awake the Sun, and bid him come away, And glad thy world with his obsequious ray? |