Job, Chapter 19

Thus wound my Soule? your tongues more sharpe then swords,
Ten times have you aspersions on me throwne:
Your selves, as Strangers, without blushing showne.
If I have sinn'd, my Sinnes with me remaine:
And I alone the punishment sustaine.
It is inhumane crueltie in you
Thus to insult; and his reproach pursue
Whom Gods owne hand hath cast unto the ground:
And in a Labyrinth of Sorrow wound.
Vnheard are my Complaints: my cries the wind
Drives through the aire: my wrongs no Judgement find.
God, with besieging Troopes, prevents my flight:
And folds my paths in shades more darke then night.
Hath stript me of my Glory; my Renowne
Eclips'd: and from my Temples torne my Crowne.
On every side destroy'd; trod under foot:
I, as a plant, am puld up by the Root.
His indignation like a furnace glowes
Who, as a foe at me his lightning throwes.
All his assembled Plagues at once devoure:
And round about my tents incampe their Power.
My Mothers Sonnes desert me: left alone
By my Familiars; by my Friends unknowne.
My Kindred faile me: these alone depend
On fortunes smiles; the wretched finds no friend.
Those of my Family their Master slight:
Growne despicable in my hand-maids sight.
I of my churlish servants am unheard:
My sufferings, nor Intreaties, they regard.
My Wife neglects me; though desir'd to take
Some pitie on me, for our Childrens sake.
By idle Boyes, and Idiots vilifi'd:
Who me, and my Calamities deride.
My Intimates farre from my sight remove:
Those, whom I favor'd most, ungratefull prove.
My skin cleaves to my Bones: of this remaines
No part entire, but what my teeth containes.
Oh my hard-hearted friends! take some remorse
Of him, whom God hath made a Living Corse.
Will you with God in my afflictions joyne?
Wil't not suffice that I in Torments pine?
Oh that the words I speake were registred
Writ in a Booke, for ever to be read!
Or that the tenor of my just complaint
Were sculpt with steele on Rocks of Adamant!
For my Redeemer lives: I know he shall
Descend to Earth, and man to Judgement call.
Though wormes devoure me, though I turne to mold;
Yet in my flesh I shall his face behold.
I from my marble Monument shall rise
Againe entire, and see him with these Eyes:
Though sterne diseases now consume my Reines;
And drinke the blood out of my shrivel'd veines.
T'were better said: why should we persecute
Our friend; whose cause is solid at the Roote?
Oh feare the sword; for punishments succeed
Our Trespasses; and crueltie must bleed.