JOB'S
CURSE
,
and
his
APPEAL
.
Taken
out
of
Job
,
Chap.
i
,
and
xxxi
.
LET
not
that
Day
in
circling
Moments
run
,
When
first
these
Eyes
beheld
th'
odious
Sun
:
Let
his
gay
Beams
forsake
the
mourning
Fields
,
And
starting
backward
roll
his
flaming
Wheels
;
Let
sulphurous
Hail
descend
in
baneful
Show'rs
,
And
horrid
Darkness
mix
the
jumbling
Hours
;
Let
trembling
Mortals
gaze
in
vain
for
Light
,
Curs'd
be
the
Day
and
doubly
curs'd
the
Night
:
Thou
my
great
Judge
these
Imprecations
hear
,
And
rend
her
Minutes
from
the
rolling
Year
;
To
the
sad
Skies
be
every
Star
deny'd
;
While
scorching
Plagues
on
quivering
Meteors
ride
,
Let
the
black
Air
no
melting
Musick
know
,
But
ring
with
Horror
and
Complaints
of
Woe
:
Through
the
grim
Shade
let
grisly
Terrors
run
,
And
weeping
Sorrows
that
abhor
the
Sun
:
Let
pale-ey'd
Spectres
burst
their
yawning
Tombs
,
And
dreadful
Echos
shake
th'
hideous
Gloom
;
The
low'ring
East
pour
down
a
lashing
Storm
;
Nor
through
her
Gates
admit
th'
struggling
Morn
:
Let
the
dark
Hours
no
lively
breaking
see
,
Because
they
gave
these
ceaseless
Tears
to
me
.
As
others
have
,
alas
!
why
could
not
I
Yield
my
short
Being
,
and
an
Infant
die
?
Why
was
a
Mother's
Care
indulg'd
to
me
?
And
why
supported
on
her
friendly
Knee
?
Why
did
I
in
her
tender
Bosom
grow
,
A
foster'd
Subject
of
impending
Woe
?
Did
friendly
Death
my
marble
Limbs
enchain
,
This
bleeding
Heart
would
know
no
smarting
Pain
;
Then
lasting
Sleep
would
seal
my
shaded
Eyes
,
Where
frozen
Pride
and
conquer'd
Vengeance
lies
;
There
weary
Slaves
forgotten
Rest
may
find
,
And
injur'd
Orphans
leave
their
Tears
behind
;
Tyrannick
Rage
must
in
the
Grave
subside
,
Where
starving
Wretches
find
their
Wants
supplyd
,
Thrice
happy
Rest
,
O
why
to
me
deny'd
!
Life
still
will
hover
round
despairing
Slaves
,
Who
slight
her
Favours
,
and
would
court
their
Graves
;
Death
gliding
by
us
,
shews
his
grizly
Charms
;
But
the
coy
Phantom
mocks
our
reaching
Arms
:
He
flies
the
Dungeons
of
intreating
Woe
,
And
strikes
the
Prosp'rous
with
unwelcome
Blow
:
To
blooming
Youth
his
partial
Arrows
fly
,
O'er
wither'd
Mendicants
,
that
vainly
try
To
meet
the
fatal
Shaft
,
and
only
wish
to
die
.
When
Darkness
sits
as
Regent
of
the
Skies
,
And
round
my
Bed
redoubled
Horrors
rise
,
Till
Night
grows
hideous
with
my
constant
Cries
:
My
tortur'd
Limbs
with
ceaseless
Pangs
are
torn
,
But
yet
I
live
to
see
returning
Morn
:
The
piercing
Sun
thrusts
in
a
spiteful
Ray
,
To
wound
my
Eyelids
with
unwelcome
Day
.
Tyrannick
Death
,
whom
trembling
Mortals
flee
,
The
Prince
of
Ills
to
ev'ry
Wretch
but
me
,
Plays
with
the
Torments
of
my
struggling
Heart
,
And
o'er
my
Bosom
shakes
his
ling'ring
Dart
.
O
!
sacred
Judge
,
when
will
thy
Wrath
be
done
?
Why
do
I
live
to
scare
the
wond'ring
Sun
?
Let
not
thy
Mercy
spare
my
wounded
Clay
,
But
strike
and
sweep
me
from
offensive
Day
.
My
Heart
is
vexed
with
consuming
Fears
,
And
nourish'd
only
with
continual
Tears
;
Close
at
my
Heels
pursue
a
meagre
Train
Of
pining
Sickness
and
distorting
Pain
,
Pale-ey'd
Confusion
with
dishivel'd
Hair
,
And
wild
Impatience
leading
on
Despair
.
Did
I
with
Crimes
profane
my
Days
of
Rest
?
Did
e'er
Presumption
swell
my
rising
Breast
?
Did
guilty
Flame
my
tainted
Soul
surprise
?
Or
Snares
of
Beauty
catch
my
wand'ring
Eyes
?
If
e'er
Injustice
swell'd
my
spreading
Lands
,
If
e'er
Oppression
stain'd
my
guiltless
Hands
;
Then
let
my
God
his
flaming
Vengeance
throw
,
Renew
my
Plagues
,
and
double
every
Woe
.
Did
e'er
my
Servants
of
their
Lord
complain
?
Did
humble
Rhetorick
ever
plead
in
vain
?
In
vain
to
me
did
helpless
Widows
cry
?
Or
at
my
Gate
neglected
Orphans
lie
?
No
;
their
glad
Eyes
my
plenteous
Table
knew
,
And
with
my
own
the
foster'd
Infants
grew
.
Was
e'er
my
Portals
barr'd
against
the
Poor
?
Did
not
the
Stranger
bless
my
friendly
Door
?
Tho'
cold
and
hungry
in
my
Courts
he
mourn'd
,
Joyful
and
full
the
smiling
Wretch
return'd
.
When
every
Good
obey'd
my
lordly
Will
,
Did
I
by
Fraud
my
glitt'ring
Coffers
fill
?
Did
I
by
Fraud
increase
the
tempting
Store
?
Or
dote
too
fondly
on
the
shining
Ore
?
Did
restless
Envy
in
my
Bosom
roll
?
Or
lurking
Malice
blot
my
tainted
Soul
?
No
—
this
fond
Heart
has
bled
for
distant
Woe
,
And
learn'd
Compassion
for
a
sinking
Foe
.
Did
e'er
my
Soul
from
its
Creator
run
To
painted
Idols
,
or
the
beaming
Sun
?
Or
to
the
Moon
my
wav'ring
Senses
yield
,
When
her
pale
Rays
adorn'd
the
glist'ring
Field
?
Yet
stay
,
presumptuous
Wretch
,
nor
urge
too
far
Thy
doubtful
Sentence
at
the
dreadful
Bar
:
What
melting
Rhet'rick
,
or
what
potent
Friend
,
At
Heav'n's
Tribunal
shall
thy
Cause
defend
?
Where
smother'd
Evils
,
hid
from
mortal
Eye
,
Mature
and
open
to
Omniscience
lie
.