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Chapter 1
There was a man dwelling in the land of Hus once, Job was the name of him, that was true and honest; ever he feared God, and kept far from wrong-doing. Seven sons he had, and three daughters; and for wealth, he had seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen, five hundred she-asses, and servants a many; in all the East none was Job's rival. And this custom his sons had in feasting, each invited the rest in turn; at such times they would send for their three sisters to eat and drink beside them. And ever when their week of feasting was over, Job would send for them, and have them rid of all defilement; next morning, it was his first care to offer burnt-sacrifice for each of them. Who knows, thought he, but they may have committed some fault, these children of mine? Who knows but they may have slighted God in their secret thoughts? Never would he let the day pass without burnt-sacrifice.
One day, when the heavenly powers stood waiting upon the Lord's presence, and among them, man's Enemy, the Lord asked him, where he had been? Roaming about the earth, said he, to and fro about the earth. Why then, the Lord said, you have seen a servant of mine called Job. Here is a true man, an honest man, none like him on earth; ever he fears his God, and keeps far from wrong-doing. Job fears his God, the Enemy answered, and loses nothing by it. Sheltered his life by your protection, sheltered his home, his property; your blessing on all he undertakes; worldly goods that still go on increasing; he loses nothing. One little touch of your hand, assailing all that wealth of his! Then see how he will turn and blaspheme you. Be it so, the Lord answered; with all his possessions do what you will, so you leave himself unharmed. And with that, the Enemy left the Lord's presence, and withdrew.
And now it was the turn of Job's children to sit over their feasting and their wine at the house of the eldest brother. That day, a messenger brought Job news of his oxen and asses. The oxen were a-ploughing, said he, and the asses grazing near them, when on a sudden a band of Sabaeans swept down on them, and carried all away. As for your men, the Sabaeans put them to the sword, and none lives to tell the tale but I. Even as he spoke, another messenger came in with news of the sheep, how God's lightning had fallen, devouring sheep and shepherd, so that none was left to tell the tale but he. And upon the heels of that, in came a third to say that robbers from Chaldaea, in three several bands, had closed in upon the camels and driven them away, killing the men who tended them, so that none was left to tell the tale but he. And before this one had finished his story, a fourth messenger came in. I come, said he, from your eldest son's house, where but now your sons and daughters sat at their feasting and their wine. All on a sudden, came a tempestuous wind from across the desert, and beat so on every corner of the house that it fell in, crushing your children to death amid the ruins of it; none lives to tell the tale but I.
Then rose up Job, and rent his garments about him; and he shaved his head bare, and fell down to earth to do reverence. Naked I came, said he, when I left my mother's womb, and whence I came, naked I must go. The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away; nothing is here befallen but what was the Lord's will; blessed be the name of the Lord. In all this, Job guarded his lips well, nor challenged with human folly God's wisdom.
Chapter 2
Once again the heavenly powers came to wait upon the Lord's presence; and there, waiting with the rest of them, was the Enemy of man. And of his travels he still said the same; he had been roaming about the earth, to and fro about the earth. Why then, the Lord said, you have seen for yourself that this servant of mine, Job, has not his like on earth; a man so true and honest, ever fearing his God, and keeping far from wrong-doing. And still he maintains his innocence. Shame it is that you have set me on to do him a mischief, and all to no purpose. Nay, answered the Enemy, skin must suffer before skin grieves. Nothing a man owns, but he will part with it to keep his skin whole. That hand of yours, let it fall on bone of his, flesh of his; see if he does not turn and blaspheme you. And thereupon said the Lord to man's Enemy, Have what power over him you will, so his life be kept safe in him. And with that, the Enemy left the Lord's presence, and withdrew.
And cruelly he smote Job; smote him with the foul scab from head to foot, so that he was fain to sit him down on the dung-hill, and scratch himself with a shard where he itched. Little comfort his own wife gave him; What, she said, still maintaining your innocence? Better you should renounce God, and have done with living. Spoken like a foolish wife, Job answered. What, should we accept the good fortune God sends us, and not the ill? So well, even now, did Job guard his lips. News of the calamity that had befallen him reached three of his friends, Eliphaz the Themanite, Baldad the Suhite, and Sophar the Naamathite. From their far homes all, by agreement made, came to visit him, and give him comfort. Scarcely, upon a distant view, could they recognize him; loud they cried out, and sore they wept, tore their garments about them and threw the dust over their heads heaven-high. And for seven days and seven nights they sat there on the ground beside him, and no word spoken; here, they saw plainly, was overmastering grief.
Chapter 3
At last, Job himself broke into utterance, and fell to cursing the day on which he was born. And this was his plaint: Blotted out for ever be the day of my birth; that night, too, which gave word that a human life had been conceived in the womb! Plunged be that day in darkness; may God on high forget it, and grant it never shine of sun; shades, like the shades of death, claim it for their own; deep gloom lie heavy on it, and wrap it all in desolation. Shrouded be that night in a black storm, let it not be reckoned among the days of the year, nor marked in the moon's calendar; a night doomed to exile, a night that never wakes the sound of praise. Wizards that can overcast the sun, and rouse old Chaos from his lair, on that night lay your ban; blacken its starlight, let it wait for the morning light, and see it never, nor break of rising dawn; the night that should have closed the doors of the womb against me, shut these eyes forever to sights of woe!
Had but the womb been the tomb of me, had I died at birth, had no lap ever cherished me, no breast suckled me, all would be rest now, all would be silence. Deeply I would take my repose, with the old kings and senators, that once restored cities for their whim, the chieftains that had such wealth of gold, houses full of silver; with babe still-born and babe unborn, hidden away in the sunless grave. There the unquietness of the wicked is stilled, and the weary are at rest; untroubled the thrall sleeps, his tyrant's bidding cannot reach him now; master and slave are there, and the slave masterless.
Why should they see the light, that groan to see it; why should they live, that must live in bitterness of soul? Why should they be like treasure-seekers, longing for the death that still cheats them, a grave the prize they covet? Such men as I, that must tread blindfold in a maze of God's making! Ever as I sit down to meat the sighs come, grief floods over me unrestrained. Must I have nothing left to daunt me? Must each calamity be felt as soon as feared? And still I kept my own counsel, still patient and silent I, till my angry mood overcame me at last.
Chapter 4
Thereupon Eliphaz the Themanite made answer: Speak we, it may be you will take our words amiss, yet speech will out. Well you knew how to teach others, strengthen the drooping hands, give courage to the waverer, support to flagging knees, by counsel of yours. Now the blow has fallen on yourself, and your strength is gone; the nearer neighbourhood of misfortune unmans you. No more we hear now of that fear of God, that life perfectly lived, which once gave you confidence, gave you strength to endure! And, sure enough, ruin never fell yet on the innocent; never yet was an upright soul lost to memory. The men that traffic in wrong-doing, that sow a crop of mischief they themselves must reap at last, these I have seen undone; one breath, one blast of the divine anger withers them quite, and they are gone.
Roar lion and growl lioness, the fangs of the lion-cubs will yet be shattered. For lack of prey, the tiger goes his way at last, the young lions wander wide.
Listen; here is a secret that was made known to me; it was but the breath of a whisper overheard. It was the hour when night visions breed disquiet, as men lie chained by sleep; fear took hold of me, a fit of trembling that thrilled my whole frame, and made every hair bristle. All at once a spirit came beside me and stopped; there it stood, no face I knew, yet I could see the form of it, and catch its voice, light as a rustling breeze. Can man have right on his side, the voice asked, when he is matched with God? Can a mortal creature shew blameless in its Creator's presence? Nay, in his own retinue God finds loyalty wanting; angels may err. What, then, of Man, earth-bound in his house of clay, eaten away by the moth of time? What of Man, cut down between morn and eve, doomed to perish unregarded, even the straggler marching on at last? Will he not die before he learns wisdom?
Chapter 5
Who will listen to your plaint against God? Will you turn to one of his angels for redress? Impatience is a great murderer of fools; in their simpleness of heart, they repine at the injury, to their ruin. Never yet did I see a fool secure in his possessions but I prophesied disaster, there and then, for his fair prospects. And still would I see his children bereft of hope, ground down by false judgement, and none to bring redress; his harvest a prey for hungry neighbours, himself for the armed robber, his wealth drunk up by thirsty mouths.
Never was ill without a cause; never did mischief spring up self-sown. Man's bent is for mischief, as sure as birds will fly.
Wiser counsels for me; to the Lord himself my plaint shall be made, of God himself I will seek audience. His magnificent counsels none may fathom, none reckon up his marvellous deeds. His to grant the parched earth rain, watering the countryside; his to exalt men of low esteem, to comfort the mourner with new hope. Through him the crafty schemer is baulked of his aims; cunning overreaches itself, and knavish plots are scattered to the winds; wise fools, that blink in daylight, and grope their way blindly at full noon!
So, from their slander and their violence, he rescues the poor and the unbefriended; now, misery, take heart, let malice stand dumb with confusion! Happy the man, whom God chastens for his faults! The correction he sends you never, on your life, refuse. Wounds he, it is but to heal; the same hand, which smote, shall medicine you. So in six perils you shall go unharmed, and find yet one deliverance more; hunger shall not starve you, sword wound you, slander find you out, havoc reach you; rapine and dearth you shall defy. And besides all this, ravening beasts shall not daunt you; friendly soil for you are the desert rocks, and the wild things are in league with you; secure you shall keep your tent, or visit your fair lands, and nought shall go amiss. Be sure that your posterity will increase; like the green grass your race shall flourish; and when go to the grave you must, it shall be with strength undiminished, like ripe corn at harvest-home. Here are thoughts tested and found true; well for you if you will heed them, and ponder them in your heart.
Chapter 6
But Job answered: Oh that I had such a pair of scales as might weigh provocation of mine against the ills I suffer! The sand on the shore of ocean could not match the burden of them, and do you wonder that my utterance is all reproach? Deep the Lord's arrows rankle in me, draining my life; all his terrors are arrayed against me. Brays the wild ass, be sure he lacks pasture; lows the ox, he stands before an empty crib. Would you have me relish food unseasoned, lick my lips over the taste that brings death? The food I had no stomach for, in my hard straits eat I must.
Might it be granted, this is the boon I long for, this the request I would make of God, that he would finish what he has begun, crush me altogether, strike a full blow and make an end of me! Consolation enough, if he will but torment me to my death; no repining, then, against his will! In what strength should I hold out? In what hope repose? Have I the endurance of flint? Is my flesh brass? Help in myself is none; human aid keeps its distance from me now. Nay, who defies the Lord's vengeance more surely than friend who refuses compassion to a friend? See how the men that are my brothers have failed me, fickle as the mountain brooks that run headlong down their ravines; first shrivelled with frost, then piled high with snow, then, when the snows melt, gone, vanished away at the first touch of the heat This way and that their winding channels turn, but all to no purpose, all are lost to view. They must take heed, now, that would pass by Thema, and travel into Saba; they must wait awhile on their journey. Some hope I had in my friends, but all is disappointment; with eyes that will not meet mine, they come to visit me.
Ay, you have come, but finding me so sorely smitten you dread my company. It was little enough I asked; I never bade you diminish your own wealth by bringing gifts to me, never begged your aid to rid me of some enemy that was too strong for me. Come, be my instructors; I will hear you out in silence; tell me what is the fault I have committed, all unknowing? Ill fare the claims of truth with such as you; not one of you can shew me in the wrong, yet for very love of reproof you must be reproving still, all your words wasted on the air. Is it well done, to make a prey of the defenceless, to conspire against the good name of your friend? Browbeat me, then, at your pleasure; try if close scrutiny can prove me false; only let there be no contentiousness in your pleadings; in all honesty bring your complaint. You will not fasten guilt on any word of mine; reckless utterance never these lips shall frame.
Chapter 7
What is man's life on earth but a campaigning? Like a hired drudge, he passes his time away; nor ever was slave so weary, longing for the shade, or drudge so weary, waiting to earn his hire, as I have been, counting these months of emptiness, these nights that never brought rest. Lie I down to sleep, I weary to be up with the day; comes the day, I weary for the evening, comfortless until dark. Overgrown my flesh with worms, matted with dust; my skin dried up and shrivelled. Frail as the weaver's thread my years vanish away, spent without hope. Bethink you, Lord, it is but a breath, this life of mine, and I shall look on this fair world but once; when that is done, men will see me no more, and you as nothing. Like a cloud dislimned in passing, man goes to his grave never to return; never again the home-coming, never shall tidings of him reach the haunts he knew. And should I utter no word? Nay, the crushed spirit will find a voice, the embittered heart will not keep its own counsel. Am I a raging sea, a ravening monster, that you guard me so close? When I would find rest on my pillow, take refuge in night thoughts, what dreams you send to daunt me, what sights of terror to unman me!
The rope for me! Death only will content this frame. To despair I yield myself, I will live on no more; loose your hold of me; this life of mine is but the shadow of a life. Why is it that you will make so noble a thing of man, will pay so much heed to him? Never a day dawns but you will surprise him at his post; never a moment when you are not making proof of him. Nay, gaze on me no more; leave me, though it were but for a breathing-space, to myself! If sinned I have, does human act of mine claim your watchful regard? Must my path always cross yours, my life always be a burden to me? Would it cost you much to forgive sin of mine, pass over fault of mine, when I, so soon, shall be lying in the dust, missing at my post, as you make your rounds at dawn?
Chapter 8
Then answered Baldad the Suhite: What, still at your old complaining; blustering still, like a high wind, on and on? Can sentence undeserved come from God, unjust award from the Almighty? What if these children of yours committed some fault, and he allowed justice to take its course? For yourself, you have but to keep early tryst with God, make your plea to his omnipotence. Then, if you come before him innocent and upright, he will give you audience betimes; he will establish you in your possessions again, as one that enjoys his favour. A poor thing your old prosperity will seem, matched with the abundance he gives you now.
Ask counsel of the ages that are long past; let the experience of former men overrule you. How blind are we, creatures of a day, whose time on earth passes like a shadow! Those fathers of ours will be your best teachers, and this is the advice their wisdom offers you: Never yet grew it bulrush without moisture, nor reed-bed that lacked water; fade it must, no leaf so soon, in its first flower, before men have time to gather it. So frail their happiness, who leave God unremembered; so fade the hopes of false hearts. Little shall their recklessness avail them; in threads of gossamer they put their trust. Vain his reliance on the house he has built, vainly he seeks to underpin it. Here is a plant that seems well-watered enough, spreads abroad its early shoots, but only till the sun rises; wrapped about stones are the roots of it, and stones all its dwelling-place; yonder sun must needs drain its life, and the garden will keep no memory of its passage. So brief its pride; they are waiting even now underground, the shoots that will fill its place.
Trust me, God will not cast off the innocent, will not lend his aid to the malice of their enemies. Ere long, he will teach those lips to smile, that mouth to sing praise; brief shall be the triumph of your foes, brief the security of the wrongdoer.
Chapter 9
But Job answered: No need to teach me that; how should a man win his suit, matched against God? Who would go to law, where one plea on this side is arrayed against a thousand on that? His all-knowing mind, his all-conquering arms, what man ever throve yet that defied them? God, the unseen power that can thrust mountains this way and that, uproot them in his anger, can move earth from its place, and set all its pillars quaking, can prevent, with a word, the sun's rising, or imprison, under his royal seal, the very stars? He it was, and no other, that spread out heaven to be his covering, made ocean a floor under his feet; that created Arcturus, and Orion, and the Hyades, and the nooks of the south; great wonders he does, beyond all our understanding and all our reckoning. Hidden from my sight, hidden from my thought, he comes and goes; comes suddenly, and how should I defend my doings? goes suddenly, and how should I question his? There is no braving the anger of such a God, when even the Titanic powers obey him; and what am I that I should use phrases of studied eloquence for my pleading?
Nay, though I had right on my side, I would not plead against him as an adversary, I would sue to him for mercy as a judge. What though I should cry upon him, and he should answer my summons? Well I know he would listen to no pleadings of mine; his storms would overwhelm me, faster than ever the unmerited blows would fall; never a breathing-space, never a draught but of gall! Nought avails might, when a giant threatens me; nought avails right, when none dares to support my quarrel. Would I plead in defence, he turns my own words against me; be I never so upright, he will prove me hypocrite. And innocent I am, but of that I take regard no longer; I am aweary of life itself.
Still unchanged is the burden of my complaint; innocent and guilty, he sweeps all away. If his scourge must fall, should not a single blow suffice? Why does he look on and laugh, when the unoffending, too, must suffer? So the whole world is given up into the power of wrong-doers; he blinds the eyes of justice. He is answerable for it; who else?
Swift as a royal courier my days pass, and joyless each one, like a pinnace gliding down stream, or an eagle swooping on its prey. Ere now, I have been minded to put away such talk as this, wear a sad face and live on the rack no more; still would I have pains to daunt me; still you would hold me guilty, would not spare. Blamed I must be, in spite of all; vain was my striving, vainly I washed me in water pure as snow, kept my hands shining clean; your condemnation must roll me in the mire again, till the very clothes I wear shun the touch of me! I cannot meet him in judgement as man to man, claim an impartial hearing for my plea; there can be no arbiter between us, to claim jurisdiction over both. Let him lay by his rod, let his terrors cease to daunt me; then I will speak out bravely to his face; it is fear that holds me dumb.
Chapter 10
Oh, I am weary of life; I will speak out, come what may; my soul is too embittered for silence. I will protest against God's sentence, demand to know why his judgement is so cruel. Is it well done in you to play the tyrant, to spurn me, the creature of your own hands, to smile on the ill designs of the godless? Are those eyes of yours human after all; is your sight, too, blinded, like the sight of men? Have you a mortal's span of life, a destiny brief as ours, that you must search for faults in me, labour to convict me of wrong done, when you know full well that I am innocent, know that I am in your power beyond hope of rescue?
It was your hand that made me, no part of me but is your fashioning; and will you cast me aside all in a moment? You the craftsman, though of clay your handiwork, and must all be ground to dust again? Milk of your milking, cheese of your pressing, were flesh and skin that clothed me, bone and sinew that built up my frame; the life given by you, by you was spared; your vigilance was all my safety. Only in your heart the memory of this is stored, but I know you have not forgotten. And was it your purpose to spare me for a little, if I sinned, but absolve me never? Woe to me, if I rebelled against you! And if I remained innocent, what then? Why, I would be drowned in misery and despair till I could lift up my head no more! Or if I did, that were pride in me, to be hunted down as a lioness is hunted; you would devise fresh miracles of torment; would bring fresh witnesses against me, redouble your avenging strokes, array against me a new host of punishments. Why did you ever take me from the womb; why could I not perish there, never to meet men's eyes; a being without being, carried from womb to tomb? Brief, brief is my span of days; for a little leave me to myself, to find some comfort in my misery. Soon I must go to a land whence there is no returning, a land of darkness, death's shadow over it; a land of gloomy night, where death's shadow lies over all, and no peace haunts it, only everlasting dread.
Chapter 11
Then answered Sophar the Naamathite: Ready to speak should be ready to listen; glibness will not make an innocent man of you. Must all keep silence till you have done; shall none make answer to your raillery? Still you will have it that all your dealings are upright, that your heart, as God sees it, is pure. Would he but speak one word in your ear, make you his confidant! Would he but reveal to you the secrets of his wisdom, in its ordered variety! Then would you learn that the penalty he is exacting of you is less, far less, than your sins deserve. What, would you search out the ways of God, have knowledge unconfined of his omnipotence? High as heaven is that wisdom, and your reach so small; deep as hell itself, and your thought so shallow! Far as earth it stretches, wide as ocean; will he sweep them all away, or confine them all in a little space, there is no gainsaying him. He knows the false hearts of men, sees wickedness there, and would you have him overlook it? Poor fools, that will have a mind of their own, and think they were born free as the wild ass!
But see, your heart once guided aright, your hands outspread to him in prayer, you have but to cleanse your hands of their wrong-doing, rid your dwelling-place of the guilt that defies it. Then you may lift up your head again, free from reproach, waver no more, tremble no more. These miseries of yours shall be forgotten, or remembered gratefully, like floods that are overpast. Radiance of noon shall dispel twilight, dawn shall rise where darkness seemed to envelop you; fresh confidence shall he yours, fresh hope; hidden away in safety you shall sleep secure; and that rest of yours, none shall disturb, suitors a many shall come to court your favour. The godless another doom awaits; their eyes shall grow faint with watching, and no rescue shall ever reach them; no other prospect they have but despair.
Chapter 12
But Job answered: Strange, that you alone should have the gift of reason; that when you die, wisdom must die too! Well, I too have my thoughts; I am yet a match for you; this knowledge you bring me is knowledge common to all. For all his friends raillery, a man such as I will still cry upon God, and have him answer the summons; the simplicity of the upright was ever a laughing-stock, and indeed, it is but a rushlight, despised by shrewd and prosperous folk, but it waits its turn. Meanwhile, see how well the robbers store their houses, braving God's anger, and yet in all things he lets them have their way! Do you doubt it? The very beasts will tell you, the birds in air will be your counsellors; the secret is known in every cranny of the earth, the fish in the sea will make it known to you; none doubts, I tell you, that all this is the Lord's doing; all living things that breathe, all the spirits of all mankind, lie in the hollow of his hand. As surely as the ear judges words, and the mouth relishes the taste of food, so surely is there truth in ancient sayings; it is time brings experience.
All God's doing; his are the wisdom and the power; to him belong prudence in act and discernment. The ruins he makes, none can rebuild, his imprisonment none can escape; withholds he the rain, all is dried up; sends he rain, it floods all the ground. Yes, he is strong, he is wise; reads the knave's heart as easily as the fool's. He can thware the counsellor, bemuse the judge, exchange the king's baldrick for the rope of a prisoner, lead the priest away ungowned, dispossess the noble, bewitch the lips that never erred, rob the elder of his prudence, bring princes into contempt, unman the strong. Things deep hidden in darkness he reveals, kindles the light where death's shadow lay, brings growth or ruin to a people, and what he has ruined restores. The hearts of chieftains he bewilders, leading them by false paths to vain ends, till all light fails, and they grope about in darkness, wander aimless like a drunkard after his wine.
Chapter 13
Eyes nor ears nor wits are wanting to me, and I know all this as well as you, but I am still a match for you. Or rather, it is to God, the omnipotent, I will speak; with him I remonstrate; but first I would prove you what you are, unskilful plasterers all of you, that follow false rule of your craft. Would you but hold you tongues once for all! It were your best wisdom. Listen while I refute you; mark well what are my pleadings. Do you think God stands in need of your shifts, your lying advocacy? Are you God's hired partisans, resolved to acquit him? Why then beware of his own infallible scrutiny; think you he will be blinded, as men are blinded, by your sophistries? Nay, he himself will be the first to blame you for wrongful attachment to his cause; your turn, then, to fear every movement of his, to cower before his terrors! Your wise memories will vanish into dust, your pride will prove to be a thing of clay.
Nay, hold your tongues for a little while I say out my mind. Do not ask why I set my teeth so firmly, take my life in my hand; let him slay me if he will! I await his decree; needs must that I should make my defence before him, and spare me he will; let the guilty shun his presence, not I. Nay, hear me out; let me open my mind in full; should I stand my trial, I know that I must be found innocent! Only let me meet my accuser! Why must I die unheard?
But two rights I claim, if I am to face you openly; withdraw your chastising hand, and daunt me with your terrors no longer. Then, if you will call me in question, I will make reply; or let me speak, and be ready with your answer. Tell me, what are all these transgressions, these faults you find in me? What crime, what wrong-doing is mine? Why is it that you turn your back on me, and will treat me as an enemy? As well wrestle with a flying leaf, chase a wisp of straw, as keep this jealous record against me, tax me with the offences of my youth! To hold me so close a prisoner, watch me wherever I go, track my foot-prints, when I am no better than rotting carrion, than a garment fretted away by the moth!
Chapter 14
So frail man's life, woman-born, so full of trouble, brief as a flower that blooms and withers, fugitive as a shadow, changing all the while; and is he worth that watchfulness of yours, must you needs call him to account? (Who can cleanse what is born of tainted stock, save you alone, who alone have being?) Brief, brief are man's days; you keep count of the months left to him, you do appoint for him the bound he may not pass. And will you not leave him undisturbed for a little, till the welcome day comes when drudgery is at an end?
Were he but as the trees are! A tree has hope to live by: pollarded, it still grows green, and fresh branches spring from it. Root and stock old and withered, down in a the dusty earth, but at the breath of water it revives, and the leaves come, as they came when it first was planted. For us mortal men, death; a stripping, and a breathing out of the soul, and all is over. Where is the sea, when its waters dry up, the river when its bed is empty? So man falls asleep, never to rise again while heaven endures; from that sleep there is no waking, there is no rousing him. Ah, if the grave were only a place of shelter, where you would hide me away until your anger was spent, with a time appointed when you would bethink yourself of me again! Ah, if the dead might live again! Then I could wait willingly enough, all the time of my campaigning, till I were relieved at my post; you would summon me at last, and I would answer your summons, your creature, safe in your loving hand!
So jealous a record you keep of every step I take, and have you never a blind eye for my faults? Instead, must you seal up every wrong-doing of mine, as in a casket; embalm the memory of my transgressions?
Nay there is no help for it; mountainside or cliff that begins to crumble scales away and vanishes at last, water hollows into the hard rock, and floods wear away the firm ground at last, and you have made no less inevitable man's doom. His brief mastery you take away for ever; the lively hue changes, and he is gone. His children rise to honour, sink to shame, and he none the wiser; nothing man feels save the pains that rack him in life, the griefs that fret his soul.
Chapter 15
Then answered Eliphaz the Themanite: This is not a wise man's way, to answer with windy sophistries, as if you had the sirocco in your blood, ill matched for the contest, prating to your hurt. Worse, if you had your way, all reverence should be abolished, all devotion at an end. your tongue takes its instructions from a sinful heart; this is rebel speech. No need for me to prove you a guilty man, your words prove it; your own lips arraign you.
Tell me, was yours some primeval birth; were you made before the hills? Have you overheard the secrets of God's council-chamber, that you think him no match for you in wisdom? What knowledge have you but we share it, what discernment greater than ours? We too have ancients among us, grey-headed men that have seen more days than any father of yours. It should be no great matter for God to comfort you, if your untimely speech did not forbid it; what mean these transports, why does that eye roll so wildly? What pride is this that would cross God himself, moving you to rash utterance? It is not in man to live a life all blameless; never son of woman yet found acquittal. Fickle natures God finds among his very angels; the purity of heaven itself does not suffice him; what of man, the abominable, the defiled, athirst ever for wrong-doing?
Listen, while I tell you my mind; you shall hear what my own eyes have witnessed; you shall hear what wise men have said, making known the tradition of their fathers, that dwelt ever in their own land, and held no commerce with strangers.
Proudly though he carry himself all his days, the godless man is on the rack; how long will his tyrannous reign last? All the while, terror whispers in his ear; danger there is none, but he sees plots everywhere. Treads he by dark ways, he never hopes to see light again, swords here, swords there to threaten him; ventures he out in search of food, he doubts not his last hour is at hand; dangers threaten him, difficulties hedge him round, as though he were a king making ready for battle. And all because he chose God for his enemy, matched himself against omnipotence; head high in air he made the onslaught, proud of his strong sinews, like a bull with hanging dewlap and well-covered flanks.
Now he is like some plant that grows amid deserted streets, upon houses uninhabited that lie in ruins; no root shall he strike into the earth, of true wealth or abiding prosperity; never leave the shadows, but he is withered up by the heat or carried away by the blast. Let no fond hope delude him that he can buy off his doom; fall he must before his time; withered every branch, despoiled the vine with clusters yet unripe, shed the olive's flower. Barren, barren the schemer's plot; the house of the bribe-taker shall burn about his ears. Vainly engendered, borne in the womb, brought forth, their load of misery and infamy and shame.
Chapter 16
But Job answered: Old tales and cold comfort; you are all alike. Words are but wind; there is no end to them, and they cost you nothing. Believe me, I could do as well, were you in my case, talk the language of consolation, and mock you all the while, speak of encouragement; my lips should tremble with a show of pity. But here is grief words cannot assuage, nor silence banish; grief that bows me down till my whole frame is lifeless; these furrowed cheeks are the witness of it.
And now a false accuser dares me to my face and baits me! One that vents all his spite against me, gnashes his teeth malignantly, watches me with fierce eyes like an enemy. Mouths that deride me, hands that smite me on the cheek in reproof, hearts that delight in my anguish, to what ill neighbourhood God has condemned me, what tyrants hold me in their grip!
So free from care my life was, and now, suddenly as though a wild beast had fastened on me, dashed me to the ground, he has broken that life to pieces. I am a mark for his archery, his arrows are all about me; still they pierce me to the marrow, drain my life, wound upon wound; giant hands assail me. No wonder if I go clad in sackcloth, disfigured with ashes, if my face is swollen with weeping, and on my eyelids the darkness falls.
Such is the reward of a guiltless life, of prayer offered without stain. I charge you, earth, to leave my blood unburied, never to muffle the echoes of my protest; there is one in high heaven that knows the truth and must bear witness. Friends, prate on; these tears of mine issue their challenge to a God! Ah, could but a mortal bring God to justice, as man impleads man! Mortal am I; swiftly my years pass, and by the road I tread there is no returning.
Chapter 17
Broken my will to live, shortened my days, the grave my only prospect; my eye lingers on sights of bitterness, never through my fault! Lord, would you but vindicate me, and set me right with you! I care not who else is for or against me. For these, at least, I care not; you have robbed their hearts of all discernment, and they shall have no cause for boasting. Small thanks a man has for counting out the spoils, while his children go hungry!
A public by-word God has made me, a warning in all men's sight, my eyes grown dim, my whole frame wasted away, in my resentment. Here is sore bewilderment for honest hearts; angrily do innocent men complain, to see knaves prosper, will the just be true to their resolve any longer? Will they be encouraged to keep their hands clean? Nay, sirs, return to the charge as often as you will; I do not look to find a wise man among you.
Swift pass my days, my mind distracted with whirling thoughts, that make night into day for me, as through the hours of darkness I await the dawn. Waiting for what? The grave is my destined home; among the shadows I must make my bed at last; only from corruption I claim a father's welcome, mother's and sister's greeting the worms shall offer me; what hope is this? Wait I patiently or impatiently, who cares? Into the deep pit I must go down, all of me; even there, in the dust, shall I find rest?
Chapter 18
Then answered Baldad the Suhite: Ah, you word-mongers, you have never had enough! First grasp our meaning, and we might argue to some purpose; but no, to men like you we are worthless as dumb beasts. See with what fury he rends his own bosom! Must earth be dispeopled, must the rocks be torn from their place, to gratify one man's despairing mood?
Nay, the hopes of the wicked man are a light that shall be put out; a very will of the wisp; darkness shall fall over his dwelling-place, and the lamp that shone there will shine no more. The boldness of his own stride takes him prisoner; his own devices recoil against him; into the trap he walks, struggles vainly with its meshes; now he is laid by the heels! Mounts ever higher his burning thirst. The ground sown with snares, pit-falls about his path, fears attend him everywhere, catch everywhere at his feet.
His strength brought low by famine, hunger gnawing at his sides and wasting all his beauty, death in its primal guise shall devour those limbs. Gone the security of his home, now its master lies under the heels of tyrant death; in his house strangers shall dwell, on his lands brimstone be scattered, root never grow beneath nor harvest rise from it. Gone the fame of him, gone the name of him, from street and country-side, eclipsed in utter darkness, lost to the world. Root nor branch of his posterity shall remain among his folk, vanished every trace of him from the lands he knew. That doom with terror and amazement high and low shall witness. Here (they will say) was a home of wrong-doing; he who lived here, lived a stranger to God.
Chapter 19
But Job answered: What, will you torment me still? Every word of yours a fresh weight to crush me? How many times is this you have fallen on me, trampled me down without ruth? If, unawares, I have committed some fault, it concerns none but myself; not for you to claim authority over me, bring home to me my disgrace!
How to make you understand that God has misjudged me, caught me in his toils! If I cry out upon my wrongs, there is none to hear me, none to take cognisance of my plea; my path hedged in, so that there is no escape, my direction lost, and I benighted. By him discredited, discrowned, by him left defenceless on every side, I go my ways; a tree torn up by the roots has more to hope for than I. Against me all his anger is aroused; I am that enemy against whom he musters all his forces, to ride over me, to beleaguer my dwelling place. Sundered am I from my brethren, a stranger to all that knew me, forsaken by my kindred, by my friends forgotten. Guests that dwell in my house, ay, and the very serving-women, stare at me, the alien, the unknown; my servants do not come at my call, I must speak them fair; my wife shuns the breath of me, to my own flesh and blood I am a suppliant. The very innocents despise me, jeer at. me when my back is turned; no counsellor so trusted but he is weary of me, no friend so loved but he abandons me now. And I so wasted! Skin clinging to bone, save where the lips cover my teeth, is all that is left of me.
Friends, friends, do you at least have pity, now when God's hand has fallen on me! Would you take part in God's hue and cry against me, slander me to your hearts content? Could but these words of mine be written down in a book, graven with a pen of iron upon tablets of lead, chiselled on hard flint!
This at least I know, that one lives on who will vindicate me, rising up from the dust when the last day comes. Once more my skin shall clothe me, and in my flesh I shall have sight of God. I myself, with my own eyes; it will not be something other than myself that sees him. Deep in my heart is this hope reposed.
You that would raise the hue and cry, finding matter of complaint against me, should rather take flight yourselves, the sword at your heels; the sword that avenges wrong, proof to you that justice shall be done.
Chapter 20
Then answered Sophar the Naamathite: Strange hesitation your words breed in me; my thoughts veer to and fro. Not deaf am I to your pleadings, but there is a voice in my heart gives me pause. Certain it is that never since man found a place on earth did the wrong-doer win lasting triumph; only for a brief moment does knavery bring him content.
Let his pride overtop heaven itself, his head be lifted high as the clouds, he is for the dung-hill at last; none knows what has become of him. Vanished and gone like a dream, the phantom of yesternight, unmarked by human eyes, lost to the scenes he knew! Crushing poverty shall be his children's lot; his acts shall yield their own harvest of shame, all the lusty vigour of his frame doomed, like himself, to silence and the dust. Sweet in the mouth is the taste of evil-doing; how the tongue cherishes it! How he treasures it, loth to lose the secret pleasure of his palate! But once let that food reach his belly, not the gall of adders is so venomous. The wealth he loved to swallow, disgorge he must; God will make his belly return it; poisonous as the asp's head or the viper's tongue were those juices he sucked, when he thought to enjoy streams of plenty; honey and cream should have been his in rich abundance.
Endlessly he shall pay for the wrong he did, plagued in the measure of his own false dealings. He who oppressed and robbed the poor shall never prosper with his ill-gotten fortunes; he, the insatiable, will not keep what he so coveted; he, that never had a crust to spare, will be stripped now of all his goods. Once so full fed, now he goes in need; stands in doubt, with distress crowding in on every side; ah for a meal to fill his belly with! But no, God's angry vengeance is let loose on him, raining down all its weapons; shuns he the steel, to the bow of bronze he falls a prey. Bright and bitter the drawn sword threatens; about him, dread warriors come and go. He hides away, where thick darkness broods over him; straightway a fire no human hand has kindled threatens to devour him; woe betide any that would take refuge in that dwelling! Heaven will reveal the story of his crimes, earth itself rise in revolt against him; all the promise of his race will be laid bare and torn away, in that hour of the Lord's vengeance.
Such is the lot God sends to the wicked, such their divinely appointed doom.
Chapter 21
But Job answered: Listen, do but listen to me, and then, if you will, repent of your charity; let me have my say, and then mock on. It is not as if I bore a grudge against man; I have better reason than that to be indignant. Mark my complaint well, and you shall be astonished, hold your breath in amazement, as I too tremble with dismay at the thought of it.
How is it that godless men live on, meet with advancement, enjoy their riches undisturbed? Long they live, to see their posterity thrive about them, kinsmen and grandsons thronging all around. Safe and sound their dwelling-place; God's scourge passes them by; never bull of theirs failed to gender, cow to calve; blithe as lambs the little children go out to play; everywhere is tambour and harp-playing, everywhere the pipe's merry note. So, full of ease, their life passes, and they go down at last without a struggle to the grave.
And these are the men who bade God keep his distance from them, refused to learn his will; what right had he, the Omnipotent, to their obedience, what advantage would they gain by offering prayer to him? These are the godless folk whose counsel I must shun because they cannot command their own good fortune! Tell me, how often in very deed are the hopes of the wicked extinguished, engulfed by the flood? Does God's vengeance often deal out misfortune to them, sweeping them away like chaff before the wind, ashes beneath the storm?
But perhaps God is reserving for the children punishment of their father's sins? Nay, let the sinner himself feel the retribution when it comes; his own eyes must see the blow fall, his own lips drink in the divine vengeance! Little he cares what befalls his posterity after he is gone, though halved be the time of its continuance.
The God that passes judgement on his angels needs none to instruct him! Here is one man goes to his death sound and strong, rich and happy, well covered with flesh, his bones full of marrow; another, all misery and poverty, and he, no less than the other, has dust for bed, worms for coverlet.
Spare me those thoughts I know already, those reasons that would crush me! What becomes of the tyrant's palace, of the evil-doer's home, at last? Ask any wayfarer (you say) that knows them, and you shall hear the same account of the matter: The rogue's villainy is being reserved for future punishment, he is being slowly drawn on to his doom. Fools, how can anyone bring home his guilt to him now, punish the wrong he did? He is being slowly drawn on to his tomb, where he shall wait on in the ranks of the dead; made welcome in the dark valley, whither all men shall follow, as numberless that went before him.
Vain is all your consolation, while the answer you give me matches so ill with truth.
Chapter 22
Then answered Eliphaz the Themanite: A man cannot hope to implead God, even a man of perfect wisdom. Just though you be, how is God the better for knowing you are just? Can stainless life of yours advantage him? Or do you think that fear of you will persuade him to appear in court, and prove you in the wrong? Must he browbeat you over a long record of guilt, over many heinous deeds done; remind you of the usurer's pledge needlessly taken, of your brother left to go naked while you had his garment by you, of water grudged to thirsty men, bread refused to the hungry? Must he tell the story of a rich tyrant that had lands and held to them; of widows sent away without redress, orphans left without support, through your means? Must he say, that is why you are caught in the snare, dismayed by sudden peril, left benighted when you thought to see day, overwhelmed by the unexpected flood?
Bethink you, God is high as heaven itself, reaches beyond the uttermost star. Would you tell us that he has no knowledge of what passes, that he issues his decree blindly, gives no heed to our mortal doings, there where he walks above heaven's vault, all wrapped in cloud? That were to follow old paths of error, trodden long ago by impious feet. Snatched away before their time were the men that reasoned so; a flood engulfed the solid ground beneath them. These, beyond doubt, were men who bade God keep his distance from them, thought the Omnipotent could give them no aid, when he had filled their abode with blessings! Not for nothing do I shun their counsels! Here was a sight to make the just triumphant, make innocent folk laugh aloud in scorn, to see how their proud hopes vanished, and all that was left of them perished in the flames.
Fall in with the Lord's ways, and be his friend; you shall be well rewarded. Let his lips be your oracle, his words written on your heart. Turn back to the Almighty for your healing, and rid your dwelling-place of guilt. Firm rock you shall have for shifting dust, and for firm rock streams of gold; the Almighty himself will be your shield, and silver you shall never lack. In those omnipotent arms you shall rest content, your face upturned towards God himself, your prayer heard as soon as offered, your vows paid as soon as due; all your desire you shall have, and all your paths will be sunshine. He that was once brought low shall be high in renown; the downcast eye shall win deliverance.
But the innocent shall be kept safe; in a pair of clean hands there was safety ever.
Chapter 23
But Job answered: And still I repine bitterly as ever, no groaning too heavy for the wounds I bear. Ah, if I could but find my way to God, reach his very throne, in reproachful accents plead my suit before him, and learn what he would say in his defence, grasp the meaning of it! Will he match his strength with mine, use all his majestic power to crush me? The justice of my cause once made known to him, I should triumph at last.
But no; travel I east or west, I find no trace of him, turn I north or south, I have no skill to catch sight of him. And he, all the while keeps watch over my doings, tests me like gold the fire assays; he knows how close I have kept to the path he traced for me, swerving never aside, true to every command of his, every utterance of his cherished in my heart. But what of that? He reigns without a rival, none can cross his purposes; he does what likes him best. His will once fully accomplished in me, he has many another like purpose to fulfil. What wonder if I am all adread in his presence, if the thought of him racks me with terror? It is God that melts my heart with fear, his omnipotence that daunts me; that thought unmans me, not the surrounding darkness, not the mists which hide my view.
Chapter 24
Since he, who is omnipotent, determines every event, how is it that those who know him wait in vain for his doom to fall?
Here are men that alter their neighbour's landmark, drive stolen cattle to pasture, rob the orphan of his ass, take the widow's ox in pawn, shoulder the poor aside, conspire to oppress the friendless; leave others to make their living as best they may, like the wild ass in the desert, waking betimes to scrape food for hungry mouths at home. Reap they the field that is none of theirs, strip they the vineyard wrongfully seized from its owner; let men go bare, their garments snatched away, defenceless against cold and rain on the mountain-side, so that they are fain to hug the rocks for lack of shelter. Their violence robs the helpless children despoils the poor and simple; back and side must go bare, and never a stalk left for hungry men to glean; nor any vintager of theirs lies down between the rows at noon, but goes thirsty! A cry goes up from the city streets, where wounded men lie groaning; tell me, does not God allow it to pass unheeded?
How they shun the light, these rebels who ignore God's precepts, leave his paths trodden! The murderer must be stirring before daybreak, to catch his helpless prey, or prowl, as the thieves prowl, at night. For darkness, too, the adulterer waits, no eye must scan his muffled features under cover of darkness he will break into the house, to keep the tryst made yesterday; no daylight for him. To him, the first flush of dawn is death's shadow; deep gloom is the sunshine he walks by.
Light as foam on the waters, nor light the doom, surely, that awaits him on earth; not for him the vineyard's sunny slope! Swift as snow melts under the noon-day heat, let his guilty soul pass to the grave, unpitied, with worms for its boon-companions, forgotten, overthrown like an unfruitful tree! The childless woman was his prey; in vain the widow looked to him for mercy; now, surely, God has pulled the tyrant down; firm he has stood, but now he despairs of life itself! Time for repentance God gave him, by his pride misused, but ever on his doings kept a watchful eye; now, their brief renown over, such men must pass, as all things pass, into the dust, be carried off, swept away like ears of corn!
But no, never the day comes! Who dares give me the lie, challenge me in God's sight?
Chapter 25
Then answered Baldad the Suhite: Ay, but what power, ay, but what terrors he wields, who reigns peacefully, there in high heaven! He, the lord of countless armies, he, whose light dazzles every eye! And shall man, born of woman, win his suit, prove his innocence, when he is matched with God? Dim shews the moon, tarnished the stars, under his eye; and what is man but waste and worm in his presence?
Chapter 26
But Job answered: Bravely spoken, for a cause that so much needed it! That arm of yours ever upheld the weak. Brave advice offered in that great discernment of yours, to one who so lacks wisdom! A fine lesson you have read him, the God who gave you breath! Sure enough, there is none but trembles before him; even the old heroes, and those who share their dwelling-place under the lower depths; bare to his eyes is the place of shadows, oblivion lies revealed. He it was spread out the northern skies over emptiness, poised earth on nothing; cloud-bound he holds the rain, that else would spill on earth all at once, veiled and shut into with cloud his unseen throne. While day and night last, the waters keep the bounds he has decreed for them; the very pillars of heaven tremble awe-struck at his will. His the power, his the wisdom, that drew the seas together all in a moment, and the rebellious dragon struck down; his the spirit that clothed the heavens, his the hand that drew yonder writhing serpent from the womb. Here is but a small part of his doings, here is but the whisper of his voice; who dares to contemplate the thunder of his full magnificence?
Chapter 27
And thus Job continued to lay bare his thought: As sure as he is a living God, he, the omnipotent, who so refuses me justice, who makes my lot in life so bitter; while life is in me, while he still grants me breath, never shall these lips justify the wrong, never this tongue utter the lie! Gain your point with me you shall not; I will die sooner than abandon my plea of innocence. That claim, once made, I will not forgo; not one act in all my life bids conscience reproach me. Count him a knave that is my enemy, every detractor of mine a friend of wrong!
(What is the sinner's hope worth after all his greedy getting, when God takes the life away from him? In that hour of need, his cry for reprieve will go unheard; he cannot go on for ever basking in the Almighty's favour, calling God to his aid. Now be God's hand laid bare, now let me acknowledge openly the counsels of omnipotence! Not one of you but knows the truth of it already; yet one and all you must be urging a false plea, without the need for it!
What spoil, after all, does God grant to the wicked? From his almighty hand, what abiding possession does the man of violence receive? Sons beget he never so many, what avails it, when the sword overtakes them, and their children in turn must go wanting bread, when the plague gives all the rest of his line their burial, and never a widow to bemoan them? What avails it, to heap up silver like the sand, buy fine clothes, too, and think such treasures cheap as dirt, if more upright men than he, more innocent than he, must have the wearing of those clothes, share out that silver at last? Light as the moth he builds; not so frail a shelter the vineyard-watcher weaves about him. Rich he is laid to rest, but nothing takes with him; rich he shall wake no more. Helpless in the flood, driven in darkness by the storm, carried off, as if sirocco or whirlwind had swept him away, he is routed before the pitiless onslaught, hands clapped in triumph, tongues hissing in derision as he goes.)
Chapter 28
Where, then, does wisdom lie? Easy to trace where the veins of silver run, where gold-ore is refined, where iron is dug from the depths of earth, and rocks must be melted to yield copper. See how man has done away with the darkness, has pierced into the very heart of things, into caves under ground, black as death's shadow! Where yonder ravine cuts them off from the shepherd-folk, the miners toil, forgotten; lost to all track, far from the haunts of men. That earth, from whose surface our bread comes to us, must be probed by fire beneath, till the rocks yield sapphires, and the clods gold. Here are passages no bird discovers in its flight, no vulture's eye has seen; that never gave roving merchant shelter, or the lioness a lair. Boldly man matches himself against the flint, uproots the mountain, cuts channels through the rock, where things of price have dazzled his eye; narrowly he scans the river's depths, and brings to light all they hide. But wisdom, tell me where to search for wisdom; tell me in what cache discernment lies?
How should man set a price on it? This earth our pleasant home, yields no return of it; Not here, cries the abyss beneath us, and the sea echoes, Not here. Not for pure gold is it bartered, or weighed against silver in the balance; not the bright wares of the Indies, nor jewel of sardonyx, nor sapphire can vie with it; it is not to bematched with treasures of glass or gold, rivalled by all the goldsmith's workmanship. Do not talk of coral or of crystal; for wisdom you must make deeper search still; with wisdom the topaz from Ethiopia and the finest gold-leaf cannot compare.
Whence, then, does wisdom come to us; where is discernment to be found? That is the secret kept hidden from beast on earth and bird in heaven; the shadow-world of death claims no more than to have heard the rumour of it. Only God knows the way to it, only God can tell where it lies, he whose view reaches to the world's end, sees all that passes under the wide heavens. He, when first he took scale and measuring-line to set wind and water their task, when he appointed a time for the rain's abating, and a track for the whistling storm, descried wisdom already; traced its plan, and set all in order, and mastered it.
To man, he has told this much, that wisdom is fearing the Lord; there lies discernment, in refusing the evil path.
Chapter 29
And thus Job continued to lay bare his thought: Alas for the changes the months have brought with them! Alas for the old days, when God was my protector, when his light shone above me, its rays guiding me through the darkness! Days of ripe manhood, when God was my home's familiar guest, he, the Almighty, at my side! I had my children still about me; the milk frothed in pools at my feet, no rock so hard but my olives bathed it in oil. Went I to the city gate, there was my seat ready for me in the open square; rose the young men to make place for me, rose the aged to do me honour; nobles fell silent, and waited, finger on lip, words failed the chieftains, and counsel they gave no more.
None heard the fame of me then, but called me a happy man; none watched my doings then, but spoke in my praise. Poor man nor helpless orphan cried to me in vain; how they blessed me, souls reprieved from instant peril; with what comfort the widow's heart rejoiced! Dutiful observance was still the vesture I wore, my robe and crown integrity; in me, the blind found sight, the lame strength, the poor a father. None so ready to give the stranger's cause a hearing, break open the fangs of the wrong-doer and snatch the prey from his teeth.
Here, thought I, I have built myself a nest to die in; here, like some palm-tree, I shall defy the years, palm-tree that spreads out its roots to the river-bank, on whose leaves lodges the dew; my fame never diminishing, never worn out the bow I bear. How eagerly men hung upon my words, intent to learn what counsel I would give, nor ventured to speak when I had done! A gracious influence my words fell, like autumn rain or the spring showers on lips athirst. Were they faint-hearted, they found me smiling still, and the encouragement of my glance never failed them. Deigned I to be their leader, the first place was mine; yet ever when I sat like a king with his retinue about him, I would comfort the mourner's tears.
Chapter 30
And now? Now I am a laughing-stock, even to younger men; a flock of such base breed as theirs sheep-dog of mine never tended! So profitless their puny strength, I would have let them die before ever they came to maturity. Starveling creatures, they should browse in the waste, unkempt, haggard and woe-begone, cropping mallow and tree-bark and juniper-root for their diet, and making great hue and cry after such dainties, as they pluck them from the hill-slopes! Barren ravine and cave and rock their dwelling-place, they were glad of so much shelter; a bramble thicket should be their welcome refuge. A senseless and a nameless breed, earth is well rid of them. O that I should be a song and a by-word on such lips as these! That they loathe and shun me, and make bold to spit in my face, being what they are! Now God has made me a mark for his archery, now he has put a bit in my mouth; when my fair spring was overcast by calamity, every passer-by might throw me down like a flood they swept over me, trampled down my path, took me unawares and overcame me, when there was none to bring rescue. One breach made, one gate forced, they might fall upon me all at once, and add their weight to my misery.
All that I was, is gone, the ambition, the happiness that was mine swept away like clouds before the storm; my heart is dead within me, a prey to long despairs. By night, anguish racks my frame; sleepless the cares that consume me, their poison seems to eat away the very garments I wear, clings fast about me like the collar of my coat. No better I than mud in the streets, little thought of as dust or ashes; unheard I cry to you, unregarded I stand in your presence; so hardened is your heart, so pitilessly your blows fall upon me. Did you exalt me, lift me so high in air, only to hurl me down in ruin? I know well enough that you will bring me to the grave at last; it is the home you have appointed for all living men; but surely you do not exert your power only to destroy, surely you have mercy on the fallen? I myself know what it is to pity the afflicted, to shed tears over human need! But no, hope I for better things, I hope in vain; ever deeper the darkness shews to eyes straining for the light. Still my heart is in turmoil, greeted still by fresh despairs; I go mourning, my face blacker than ever the sun's heat made it, rise up in public, and claim audience for my wrongs; crying so dismally as if I had jackals for my brothers, ostriches for my company. And all the while, fever to discolour this flesh, to shrivel this frame! What wonder if all, with me, is mourning and lament, if the music of harp and flute is heard no more?
Chapter 31
And this was a man that had bound his eyes over by covenant; never should even his fancy dwell upon the thought of a maid! Well I knew that God Almighty in high heaven would have neither part nor lot with me else; ruin for the sinner his doom is, disinheritance for the wrongdoer. Tell me, does not this God watch over every path I take, trace my footsteps one by one? Walk I by crooked ways, run I eagerly after false dealing, he can weigh my offence with true scales; let God himself bear witness to my innocence! Have I strayed from my course; has my heart followed the lure of my eyes; are my hands stained with wrong? Then let another man enjoy the harvest I have sowed, then let my race be doomed to extinction! Have wiles of woman entangled my heart; did I lie in wait under my neighbour's window? Then be my own wife another's whore, strangers be her bedfellows! That were sin in me, and foul wrong done; that fire, once lighted, will rage till all is consumed, never a crop shall escape it.
Did I refuse justice to man-servant of mine or woman-servant, when they had complaint to bring? Then it shall go hard with me when it is God's turn to pronounce judgement; how shall I meet his scrutiny, who fashioned in the womb this one and that, man and master alike? Did I deny some poor man the alms he craved, keep the widow waiting for her pittance, sit over my meal alone, and never an orphan boy to share it? That were an ill return for the loving care that has borne me company as I grew up from childhood, ever since I left my mother's womb. Did I spurn the naked that were ready to perish of cold, too poor to find clothing; did I never earn thanks, from the back that went bare till fleece of my flock warmed it? Did I threaten the friendless, whenever I could secure judgement against them in the market-place? Then let shoulder of mine hang from shoulder-blade, every bone in my arm broken! Nay, but God's terrors overwhelmed, his majesty overbore me.
In wealth did I put my trust, hail the bright gold as my life's protector; doted I upon my great riches, upon all my toil had earned? When I gazed on the sun in its splendour, on the moon in her royal progress, did these things steal my heart away, so that mouth kissed hand in adoration? That were great wrong done, to deny the God who is higher than all. Did I triumph over a fallen foe, rejoice at his ruin; lend my lips to ill uses, cursing my enemy's life away? Rather, it was of myself men were fain to speak evil, men of my own household, and to their hearts content. Never had the stranger to lodge in the open, my doors were open to every wayfarer that passed.
Men are frail; does sin lie on my conscience undisclosed, does the memory of guilt rankle in my bosom? Was I daunted by fear of the throng, of my neighbours contemptuous looks? Did I hold my tongue, and keep within doors? that my cause might be tried; that he, the Almighty, would grant my request, that he, my judge, would write my record down; how proudly I would bear it with me, shoulder-high, wear it as a crown! I would proclaim it wherever I went, fit for a king's eyes to read. Can these lands of mine bear testimony against me, can their furrows tell a sad tale of harvests enjoyed, and no price paid for them, of labourers cruelly treated? Then thistles for wheat, thorns for barley may it yield me.
Ended herewith are the sayings of Job.
Chapter 32
So they answered Job no more, those others, a man persuaded of his own innocence. But there was one who stood by in anger and thought scorn of them, Eliu the Buzite, son of Barachel, of Ram's kindred. Angry he was with Job, for claiming that God did him an injury, and thought scorn of those friends of his, that could find no reasonable answer, but were content to find Job a guilty man. Eliu, then, waited till Job had finished speaking; was he not younger than the rest? But when he found that the other three had no answer to give, he could contain himself no longer.
Thus, then, spoke Eliu the Buzite, son of Barachel: Late in time was I born, and you are older men than I; with bowed head I kept my own counsel, ready to listen, while old age spoke, and learn from you the garnered wisdom of years. But I see now that man speaks by inspiration; only the breath of the most High can grant discernment; long life does not make men wise, it is not always the aged that give true award. So it is that I would fain have you listen while I make known my thought to you. I have waited long on your words, heard you out, while you searched about for reasons, attentive enough, while I still hoped to hear the truth from you; but no, not one of you has convinced Job, or answered his riddle. Do not flatter yourselves that you have tracked down the truth; God must put him down, not man. Not against me has he drawn up these pleadings of his; not with your shiftless answers will I meet him.
What, all abashed, these wise men, no answer ready, the words driven from their lips? I have had enough of waiting for them to speak, and seeing them stand dumb; I will take my turn at pleading, tell out my thoughts. I am full of matter, in labour with ripe utterance; fresh wine that has no vent will burst even a new wineskin. Speak I must, if I would get relief, unburden my lips of their answer. Human respect shall not daunt me; how should I match man with God? Uncertain my span of days; what if he should call me suddenly to account, he, my Creator?
Chapter 33
Listen, then, Job, to my remonstrances, and hear me out; flows my speech free, tongue and throat are loosed; here be plain words, uttered in all honesty. A creature I; God's spirit made me, the breath of omnipotence woke me to life; if answer you have, you can meet me fearlessly, since God made us both, and we were fashioned of one clay; here are no terrors to daunt you, no threats to overbear you.
Openly you have said, with my own ears to witness it, Innocent though I be of all wrong, free from the stain of guilt, God has picked a quarrel with me; that is the reason, and no other, why he treats me as an enemy, holds me so close a prisoner, and watches me wherever I go. But there is no substance in your plea; I tell you, man cannot be matched with God. What, would you complain that he does not meet these charges of yours? Know, then, that God warns us once, but does not repeat his warning. Sometimes in visions of the night, when deep sleep falls upon men as they lie abed, he speaks words of revelation, to teach them the lesson they need. This is one means by which he will turn a man away from his designs, purge him of his pride; and so the grave is disappointed, the sword misses its prey. Or else he will use the pains of the sick-bed for a man's correction, and leave his whole frame wasted with disease.
Evil days, when he sickens at the thought of food, of all the dainties he once loved so well; when the flesh pines and the bones have nought to cover them, when death encroaches on life, and the powers of darkness daunt his spirits! Then it is an angel's task, as many angels there be, to interpret his need, and shew him where man's good lies; and the word of mercy will be spoken, Let be, the grave is not for him; I have found the secret of his ransoming; enough, now, torment has racked him, let him return to the vigour of his youth! So, God's pardon wooed and won, the sick man stands in his presence once more, all thankfulness, restored to favour. He turns to the bystanders and makes acknowledgement, A sinner I, no doubt but I have greatly offended, my punishment was less than I deserved! Now God has reprieved me from death's exile, I am to live still, and see the light.
Such mercy, not once or twice, God shews to man, rescuing him from the grave, rekindling the lamp of life for him. Listen to me, then, Job, and hear me out; make answer to me, if answer you can, for I would fain see you acquitted. If answer you have none, listen to me in silence while I unfold the truth.
Chapter 34
And Eliu spoke on: A word for the wise; listen, you that are the world's sages; for food, the discerning palate, for wisdom, the discerning ear. Award we must give, this way or that; of two ways we must choose the better. Here is Job telling us that he is innocent, that God denies him his rights, judges him falsely, and plies him with punishment undeserved. Are there many such, many that thirst so greedily for the opportunity to cavil? What is this but to take part with wrong-doers, range himself among the impious, when he complains that there is no pleasing God, however ready a man is to do his will?
Listen to me, then, discerning hearts! From God, the Almighty, far removed is all wickedness, is every thought of wrong; he treats men only as they deserve, giving due reward to each. What, should Almighty God pervert justice by condemning the innocent? Is the care of the wide earth entrusted to some other; is not the maker of the world himself the world's judge? He has but to turn his thought towards men, reclaiming the spirit he once breathed into them, and all life would fail everywhere; mankind would return to its dust.
Is Job wise? Then let him listen to these words of mine, heed well my warning. Can there be healing, where there is no love of right? Would you find fault with him whose justice runs so deep? He it is that says Traitor to a crowned king, and finds princes themselves guilty of rebellion. Nothing cares he for royal dignity, nor takes the oppressor's part against the friendless; are not all alike his creatures? Suddenly death falls; there is a stir among the people at midnight, and they pass by to see the tyrant carried out, and yet no hand laid on him! Still God's eye watches over men, whatever they do, wherever they take their path; darkness is none, though it were the shadow of death itself, that can hide the wrong-doer; not at a time of his own choosing man meets God in judgement. A whole world of men he will destroy, and put others in their place; weary of their ill deeds, he bids darkness fall, and there is an end of them. In some place where many triumph at the sight, he beats down the rebels that hitherto of set purpose defied him, recked nothing of his commandments, till at last the despairing cry of poor folk unbefriended reached his ears. So long as he grants prosperity, redress there is none; it is when he frowns upon man or nation that no eye can meet him. Yet for a people's sins, he will appoint a false-hearted king to rule them.
Such is the testimony I give to God; now let us hear yours; shew me my error, and if you can prove that I have spoken amiss, I will speak no more. Perhaps you think it part of the punishment God asks of you, hearing what it pains you to hear? But it was you, not I, were the first to speak. If you have better advice to offer, say on.
O for wise tongues to speak, for discerning ears to listen to me! This Job has spoken as fools do; no word of his that echoes true doctrine! Father, let Job be tried still, tried to the uttermost; have no patience with a man so perverse, that sets a crown on his sins by blasphemy! For a while, let us see all ease denied him; and let him cite God to judgement if he will!
Chapter 35
And Eliu spoke on: What substance is there in this contention of yours, when you claim to have right on your side against God? He cares nothing (so runs your complaint) for man's good deeds; they are of no advantage to him, that he should care for sin of mine! Here is my answer, to you, Job, and to your friends alike. Look heavenward, mark how the skies tower above you, and read your lesson there. Multiply your wrong-doing as you will, no sin of yours can harm or touch him; be honest as the day, no gift you make him, he is none the richer for your pains. Only to your fellow man your malice does a hurt; only Adam's children profit by your uprightness.
... Cries and groans there are in plenty when oppression abounds, when tyranny holds unchecked sway; Where is God? men ask; yet never did they seek to find him when he brought triumph in the hour of distress, the God who teaches them such lessons as he never gave to beast or bird. Only then, only when the wicked lord it over them, men cry out, but their cry goes unheard; should God concern himself with these random complaints, he, the Almighty, examine their pleadings one by one? Nay, when he seems to take no heed, submit yourself to his judgement and await his hour; your present sufferings do not betoken his anger, he is not taking vengeance to the full.
See, then, how all Job's utterance misses the mark; glib words with no tincture of knowledge!
Chapter 36
And still Eliu would have his say: Bear with me a little while I declare my thought to you; I have more to say yet on God's behalf. From a deep source I will draw my reasons, proving him, my Maker, to be just; here is no delusive eloquence, the full truth shall be made known to you. He, the all-powerful, does not grudge men power; it is only to the wicked he denies his aid; the friendless shall have redress. Never from the just is his favour withdrawn; a royal throne is theirs for ever, so high he exalts them. If he should leave them in chains, caught in the toils of sore need, it is but to apprise them of their own ill deeds, their own tyrannous deeds; he will speak home to them for their correction, warn them to turn back from their guilty ways. Hear they and heed, they shall live long in ease and renown; if hear they will not, it is the sword's point for them, to their last gasp fools still. It is the cunning, the false-hearted, that are God's sworn enemies; from them no cry comes when the chains close about them; the storm sweeps them away, forgotten in death as the temple minions are forgotten; it is the friendless he rescues in their need, speaks home to them through the afflictions they endure. From the pit's mouth, where the ground seems lost under your feet, he will bring you out into full freedom; you shall take your ease at a table loaded with dainties.
Is sentence passed on you such as rebels undergo? You shall have justice yet, and a true award. Never let the thought that God is angry lure you into tyranny and corruption; lay aside your greatness, forbear to oppress, away with the body-guard which attends you; put an end to the dark time when nations must march under their orders. Do not yield to the rebellious mood you have cherished since affliction came upon you.
God, that is so great and powerful, man's sovereign teacher, how should anyone fathom his designs, or charge him with injustice? Bethink you, how high beyond your thought are those creatures of his which men praise; how mortals see, but see, like mortals, from afar. Truly there is no measuring God's greatness, no reckoning his length of days. He hoards up the raindrops, or showers them down in full flood from the cloud-fountains that curtain us overhead. With those clouds, when it is his pleasure, he spreads his pavilion, flashes his lightning on high, brings darkness on the depths of the sea. Has he not a whole world to rule, a whole race of mortals to supply with food? Now he hides the light away with the shadow of his hand, now he bids it shine out again, as if to shew a friend at his side that he is the owner of it, that he can reach its high fastness when he will.
Chapter 37
What wonder if my heart trembles and fails me at the thought? Listen to the bruit of it, the voice that speaks amid such terrors, the dread accents of that utterance! Under what part of heaven, into what corner of earth does he not look, do not his lightnings flash? Then what a crash resounds, the magnificent peal of his thunder; a voice heard, and none can tell whence it comes! God's voice in the thunder, a marvel worthy of him, whose deeds are so great and so unsearchable.
He it is that bids the snows fall over earth, and winter shower, and his fierce storms of rain. No hand of man but is shut up close now under his seal, that owns him Master-workman of all; cowers the beast in its lair, or lurks in its cave; from his treasure-house in the north, tempest comes and cold. At God's breath the frost binds fast, till he bids the waters flow again in plenty. And now the crops must have rain; far and wide the clouds scatter their rays of hope; this way and that they turn at the guidance of his will, to do their appointed task on earth, among distant tribes, or here in his own land, let his mercy bid them appear where it may.
Matter enough, Job, for your heeding! Halt where you stand, and consider the marvellous acts of God. Can you tell us when it was God bade the rain bring hope to us from those clouds of his, tell us the course of their journeyings? Is your knowledge so perfect? See if your garments do not cling warm about you when the south wind cheers the earth! And was it with help of yours God fashioned the heavens, firm as cast bronze? Tell us, what words we shall use to him, we, shut up in our darkness? What messenger shall deliver my complaint to him, a human messenger that will bring on himself only ruin?
Light fails men's eyes; all of a sudden, the air is thick with clouds; then a breath of passing wind has driven them away! As well search for the treasures of the north, as for the majestic praise which is God's due; find speech worthy of it we cannot, so great he is in strength, so prudent in counsel, so faithful in right dealing, past all that tongue can tell. Well may men fear him; none that think themselves wise but will tremble to meet his look.
Chapter 38
Then, from the midst of a whirlwind, the Lord gave Job his answer: Here is one that must ever be clouding the truth of things with words ill considered! Strip, then, and enter the lists; it is my turn to ask questions now, yours to answer them. From what vantage-point were you watching, when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell me, whence comes this sure knowledge of yours? Tell me since you are so wise, was it you or I designed earth's plan, measuring it out with the line? How came its base to stand so firm; who laid its corner-stone? To me, that day, all the morning stars sang together, all the powers of heaven uttered their joyful praise. Was it you or I shut in the sea behind bars? No sooner had it broken forth from the womb than I dressed it in swaddling-clothes of dark mist, set it within bounds of my own choosing, made fast with bolt and bar; Thus far you shall come, said I, and no further; here let your swelling waves spend their force.
Do you, a mortal, take command of the day's breaking, and shew the dawn its appointed post, twitching away earth's coverlet, scaring away the ill-doers? The dawn, that stamps its image on the clay of earth; stands there, flung over it like a garment, taking away from the ill-doers the darkness that is their light, so that all their power goes for nothing. Did you ever make your way into the sea's depths, walk at your ease through its hidden caverns? When did the gates of death open to you, and give you sight of its gloomy threshold? Nay, have you viewed the whole surface of earth itself? Tell me, if such knowledge is yours, all its secrets; where the light dwells, where darkness finds its home; have you followed either of these to the end of its journey, tracked it to its lair? Did you foresee the time of your own birth, could you foretell the years of life that lay before you?
Have you found your way in to see the chambers where snow and hail lie stored, my armoury against the times of stress, when there are wars to be fought, battles to be won? Tell me by what means the light is scattered over earth, the heat diffused; tell me what power carved out a channel for the tempestuous rain, a vent for the echoing thunderstorm, that they should fall on some lonely desert where foot of man never trod, water those trackless wastes, and make the green grass spring? What sire gendered the rain, or the drops of dew; what mother's womb bore the ice, the frost that comes from heaven to make water hard as stone, imprison the depths beneath its surface?
Is it at your command the glittering bright Pleiads cluster so close, and Orion's circlet spreads so wide? Do you tell the day star when to shine out, the evening star when to rise over the sons of earth? Is it yours to understand the motions of the heavens, and rule earth by their influence? Can your voice reach the clouds, and bid their showers fall on you; can you send out lightnings that will do your errand, and come back to await your pleasure? What power gives either man's heart its prescience, or the cock its sure instinct, knows all the motions of heaven and lulls the music of the spheres? When was it that earth's dust was piled, and the solid ground was built up?
Is it you or I that finds the lioness her prey, to satisfy those hungry whelps of hers, where they lie in rocky caves, their lurking-places? Which of us feeds the ravens? Is it not to God their nestlings cry so shrilly, homeless for want of food?
Chapter 39
Not yours to know when the wild goats give birth on their high crags, to watch the hinds in their throes; count the months while they carry their young, and know the time of their delivery. Without your aid they travail; born of those pangs, the calves are soon weaned, and make for the pastures, go out to return no more. Who gives the wild ass untrammelled liberty to roam the wilderness, and make the salt plains his dwelling-place; to spurn the din of cities, no driver crying after him, and look about him at the slopes where he feeds, all that green world his pasturage? Can you tame the wild ox to your service, feed him at your stall, bind him to the plough with thongs and lead him out to break clods in the valley? Would you trust that great strength of his to do your work for you, bring in your harvest and fill your threshing-floor?
Here is the ostrich, of one feather with heron and hawk, yet she will leave her eggs on the bare earth; and can you give warmth to the dust to hatch them? Heedless, though foot of man should trample or wild beast devour them, she steels herself to pity as if the brood was none of hers; throws away all her hopes in causeless alarm. God's will it was to deny her sense; wisdom she might have none, though she were swift, at need, to hoist her wings aloft, mocking the pains of horse and rider.
Ay, and what of the horse? Is it of your gift his great strength comes, was it you did caparison with him terrors? You will not scare him away like a locust; fiercely he breathes, deeply he paws the ground, bravely he prances, as he goes out to meet the shock of battle. Fear cannot daunt him, nor the sword drive him back; clang quiver, let shield and spear dazzle as they may, he swallows up the intervening distance, all heat and rage. Little recks he of the trumpet's blast; echoes exultantly the bugle's note, while he scents from afar the combat, hears the shouting of captains, and the din of armies.
Is it of your devising the hawk grows full-fledged, in time to spread her wings for the southward journey? Is it at your bidding the eagle soars, to make her eyrie in the heights, cave and crag and inaccessible rock her familiar home, whence her far-seeing eyes look round, searching for prey? Blood-thirsty her brood, and where the carcase waits, waits she. All this the Lord said to Job, and added besides, What is this? One that would match himself with God, so easily put down! Nay, God you did challenge, God you must refute. And thus Job made the Lord answer: So vain a pleader, I have no suit to make; finger on lip I will listen. Once and again I have spoken the word I would fain unsay; more I dare not.
Chapter 40
And once more, from the midst of a whirlwind, the Lord gave Job his answer: Strip, then, and enter the lists; it is my turn to ask questions, yours to impart knowledge. My awards you would fain reverse; would prove me unjust, to prove yourself innocent; why then, let us see you shew strength like the strength of God, let us hear you thunder as God thunders. Come, deck yourself with glory, up with you to the heights; shew all your splendours, robe yourself in dazzling array! Scatter the proud in that indignation of yours, with your frown abase the tyrant; here is an oppressor for you to thware; here is one that defies you, crush him! Bury them in the dust, one and all, hide them from sight, deep in the abyss; then I will acknowledge you for one whose own strength can bring him victory.
Here is Behemoth, my creature as you are, fed on the same grass the oxen eat; yet what strength in his loins, what lustihood in the navel of his belly! Stiff as cedar-wood his tail, close-knit the sinews of his groin, bones like pipes of bronze, gristle like plates of steel! None of God's works can vie with him, the maker of such a beast has his sword ready for use; whole mountain-sides, the playground of his fellow beasts, he will lay under tribute, as he lies there under the close covert of the marsh-reeds, thick boughs for his shadow, among the willows by the stream. The flooded river he drinks unconcerned; Jordan itself would have no terrors for that gaping mouth. Like a lure it would charm his eye, though it should pierce his nostrils with sharp stakes.
Or Leviathan, will you find a hook that will draw him to land, a line that will hold his tongue fast? Can you ring him, or pierce his jaw with a clasp? Will he importune you with entreaties, or cajole you with blandishments, till you make a covenant that binds him to be your servant for ever? Will you make a plaything of him, as if he were a tame bird, chain him up to make sport for your maid-servants? Is he to be divided up among fellow fishermen, sold piece-meal to the merchants? Is that skin a spoil for the net, that head for the fishermen's cabins? Do but try conclusions with him, and see if the memory of the combat does not keep you dumb! Fond hope that must be dashed to the ground for all to see it!
Chapter 41
It is in mercy that I forbear to make him a plague for mankind. But indeed, there is no resisting me, nor can any deserve my thanks by lending me the aid I lacked; nothing on earth but is at my disposal. I give him no quarter, for all his boastful, all his flattering words. Who can strip the skin of him, who can penetrate into the cavern of his mouth, forcing the gates that guard it, the terrors of his teeth? The body of him is like shields of cast metal, scale pressing on scale so close to one another as to leave no vent between; so well joined that nothing will part them. Let him but sneeze, the fire flashes out; let him open his eyes, it is like the glimmer of dawn; flames come from his jaws, bright as a burning torch, smoke from his nostrils, thick as the fumes of a seething pot; his very breath will set coals aflame, such fire issues from that mouth. What strength dwells in that neck of his, what terrors play about him! Firm-set are the folds of his flesh, unyielding though a thunder-bolt should strike them; firm-set, too, is the heart of him, firm as ever stone was, or smith's anvil. Rises he up, angels themselves are afraid, and take sanctuary in their dread. Sword thrust,nor spear, nor breast-plate can hold their own against him; to him, steel is but chaff, bronze but touch-wood, nor fears he the archer; sling-stones he counts as straw, as straw the hammer-blow, laughs at the brandished spear. Sunlight flashes beneath him as he goes, a path of gold through the slime; he makes the deep sea boil like a pot where ointment simmers; how it shines in his wake, as though ocean itself had grown hoary with age!
He has not his like among the strong things of earth, that fearless nature, that heaven-confronting eye. Over all the pride of earth he reigns supreme.
Chapter 42
And thus Job answered the Lord: I acknowledge it, you can do all you will, and no thought is too difficult for you. Here indeed is one that clouds over the truth with his ignorance! I have spoken as fools speak, of things far beyond my ken. Henceforth it is my turn to speak, yours to listen; my turn to ask questions, yours to impart knowledge! I have heard your voice now; nay, more, I have had sight of you; now I am all remorse, I do penance in dust and ashes.
And now, his converse with Job finished, the Lord said to Eliphaz the Themanite, You have earned my displeasure, you and these two friends of yours, by speaking amiss of me as my servant Job never did. To Job you must go for your ransoming, with seven bulls and seven rams to offer in burnt-sacrifice; he, my servant, shall intercede for you, and for his sake your folly shall be pardoned, that spoke amiss of me when he spoke the truth.
So away they went, Eliphaz the Themanite, Baldad the Suhite, and Sophar the Naamathite, and did the Lord's bidding. For Job's sake the Lord pardoned them; and, as he prayed for these friends of his, so the Lord relented at the sight of his penitence. So he gave back to Job twice over all that he had lost. Clansmen and clanswomen and all his old acquaintances gathered about him now, and sat down as guests in his house, and made great ado bemoaning all the afflictions the Lord had sent him; not one of them but gave him presents, a sheep and a gold earring apiece. A richer man the Lord made Job now than ever he had been in old days; fourteen thousand sheep he had, and six thousand camels, and a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand she-asses. Seven sons he had, and three daughters, the first he called Fair as the Day, and the second Sweet as Cassia, and the third Dark Eyelids. Nowhere might women be found fair as Job's daughters, and each had the same patrimony as her brothers.
Job himself lived on for a hundred and forty years, to see sons and grandsons and a new generation yet of his descendants; so he died at last as old men die, that have taken their full toll of the years.