V..

JOB X. 9.

Remember, I beseech thee, that thou hast made me as the clay, and wilt thou bring me into dust again?

T

HUS from the bosom of the new-made earth

Poor man was delv'd*, and had his unborn birth; The same the stuff, the self-same hand doth trim The plant that fades, the beast that dies, and him: One was their sire, one was their common mother, Plants are his sisters, and the beast his brother, The elder too; beasts draw the self-same breath, Wax old alike, and die the self-same death : Plants grow as he, with fairer robes array'd; Alike they flourish, and alike they fade : The beast in sense exceeds him, and, in growth, The three-ag'd oak doth thrice exceed them both. Vhy look'st thou then so big, thou little span of earth? what art thou more in being man? , but my Creator did inspire

My chosen earth with the diviner fire

Of reason; gave me judgment and a will;
hat, to know good; this, to chuse good from ill :
He put the reins of pow'r in my free hand,

A jurisdiction over sea and land;

He gave me art to lengthen out my span
Of life, and made me all, in being man :
, but thy passion has committed treason
Against the sacred person of thy reason:
Thy judgment is corrupt, perverse thy will;
That knows no good, and this makes choice of ill :

The greater height sends down the deeper fall ;
And good declin'd turns bad, turns worst of all.
Say then proud inch of living earth, what can
Thy greatness claim the more in being man
O but my soul transcends the pitch of nature,
Borne up by th' image of her high Creator;
Out-braves the life of reason, and bears down
Her waxen wings, kicks off her brasen crown.
My heart's a living temple, t' entertain
The king of glory, and his glorious train :
How can I mend my title, then? where can
Ambition find a higher style than man?
Ah! but that image is defac'd and soil'd ;
Her temple's raz'd, her altars all defil'd;
Her vessels are polluted and distain'd
With loathed lust, her ornaments profan'd;
Her oil-forsaken lamps and hallow'd tapers
Put out; her incense breaths unsav'ry vapors :
Why swell'st thou then so big, thou little span
Of earth? what art thou more in being man?
Eternal Potter, whose blest hands did lay
My coarse foundation from a sod of clay,
Thou know'st my slender vessel's apt to leak;
Thou know'st, my brittle temper's prone to break :
Are my bones brasil, or my flesh of oak?

O mend what thou hast made, what I have broke:
Look, look with gentle eyes, and, in thy day
Of vengeance, Lord, remember I am clay.

S. AU

S. AUGUST. Soliloq. xxxii.

Shall I ask, who made me? It was thou that madest me, without whom nothing was made: Thou art my maker, and I thy work. I thank thee, my Lord God, by whom I live, and by whom all things subsist, because thou madest me: I thank thee, O my Potter, because thy hands have made me, because thy hands have formed me.

EPIG. 5.

Why swell'st thou, man, puft up with fame and purse?
Th' art better earth, but born to dig the worse;
Thou cam'st from earth, to earth thou must return;
And art but earth, cast from the womb to th' urn.

VI.

JOB Vii. 20.

I have sinned: what shall I do unto thee, O thou preserver of men? Why dost thou set me as a mark against thee.

LORD, I have done; and, Lord, I have misdone;

'Tis folly to contest, to strive with one

That is too strong; 'tis folly to assail

Or prove an arm that will, that must prevail.

I've done, I've done; these trembling hands have thrown
Their daring weapons down: the day's thine own.
Forbear to strike, where thou hast won the field;
The palm, the palm is thine: I yield, I yield.
These treach'rous hands that were so vainly bold
To try a thriveless* combat, and to hold
Self-wounding weapons up, are now extended
For mercy from thy hand; that knee that bended
Upon her guardless guard,† doth now repent
Upon this naked floor; see both are bent,
And sue for pity: O my ragged wound

Is deep and desp'rate, it is drench'd and drown'd
In blood and briny tears: it doth begin
To stink without, and putrify within.
Let that victorious hand, that now appears
Just in my blood, prove gracious to my tears :
Thou great preserver of presumptuous man,
What shall I do? What satisfaction can
Poor dust and ashes make? O if that blood,
That yet remains unshed, were half as good

* Thriveless; i. e. unsuccessful.

↑ A term in fencing.

As blood of oxen, if my death might be
An off'ring to atone my God and me,
I would disdain injurious life, and stand
A suitor to be wounded from thy hand.
But may thy wrongs be measur'd by the span
Of life, or balanc'd with the blood of man?
No, no, eternal sin expects for guerdon,
Eternal penance, or eternal pardon :

Lay down thy weapons, turn thy wrath away,
And pardon him that hath no price to pay ;
Enlarge that soul, which base presumption binds;
Thy justice cannot loose what mercy finds;

O thou that wilt not bruise the broken reed,
Rub not my sores, nor prick the wounds that bleed,
Lord, if thy peevish infants fight and flies,
With unpar'd weapons, at his mother's eyes,

Her frowns (half mix'd with smiles) may chance to shew angry love-tick on his arm, or so;

An

Where, if the babe but make a lip and cry,

Her heart begins to melt, and by-and-by

She coaks† his dewy cheeks; her babe she blisses,
And choaks her language with a thousand kisses.
I am that child: lo, here I prostrate lie,
Pleading for mercy; I repent, and cry
For gracious pardon: let thy gentle ears

Hear that in words, what mothers judge in tears:
See not my frailties, Lord, but through my fear,
And look on ev'ry trespass through a tear:
Then calm thine anger, and appear more mild;
Remember, th' art a father, I a child.

* Guerdon; i, e. reward.

+ Coaks; i. e. soothes.

Through; i. e. see through,

S. BERN.