Bible Stories: Job (Chapter Xxxi) Poem by Dr John Celes

What lot to man does God provide?
‘What to give? ’- How does He decide?
For unrighteous, is it not woe,
And misfortune, for Maker’s foe?

Does He not watch keenly my ways?
Does He not count my footstep’s pace?
Let God’s just scales weigh me for once,
Thus, He will know my innocence.

If I’d in falsehood ever walked,
And tongue in deceit ever talked!
If I’d at times, gone ev’r astray,
And heart had followed my eyes’ way…

If stained are hands of mine some way,
And I had lived a life all gay,
Then, may I sow to others eat,
And uprooted get plants out neat.

Had my land’s furrows ev’r complained,
That I took its produce afree,
Had I my tenants’ hearts aggrieved,
Let thistles, weeds grow aplenty!

Had I allowed my eyes scot-free,
And waited at my neighbor’s door;
Had woman’s thoughts enticed my heart,
And I reveled in maiden’s thought…

Then, let my wife work for the next,
And with her others cohabit;
Detestable are heinous crimes
Let fire burn my wealth all times.

Had I been to my maid unjust,
Or showed injustice to servants,
What should I do when God questions
How do I render my account?

Didn’t He who made me, make him too?
Didn’t He entire fashioning do?
If I’d been to the poor, selfish,
Or made the widow’s eyes languish…

While eating my portion alone,
Without sharing with an orphan,
Though from my youth, God had me reared,
And since my birth, He’d me guided.

Had I ignored a wanderer,
Or bare-bodied, unclothed beggar,
And failed to get his blessings when
My sheep’s fleece warmed his limbs, then…

If I had beat an innocent,
Because supporters with him went,
May off my shoulder, fall my arm,
And my elbow-joint come to harm!

And let the dread of God befall!
May His pow’r subdue me and stall!

Had I loved Gold and precious things,
And amassed it like queens and kings,
Had I gloated at my wealth great,
Or exulted at my rare feat…

If I had gazed at the sunlight,
And splendor of the moon at night,
And wafted kisses secretly
At them, by hand for their beauty…

It is a crime to be condemned,
As I’d the God above ignored;
Had I enjoyed my foe’s ruin,
Or exulted when woe rushed in…

My members of my house-hold said,
‘Who had not been by Job’s meat fed? ’
Who had not been sheltered by him?
He was kind to wayfarers grim.

If I’d hidden my sins on earth,
By human weakness since my birth,
And in my bosom buried guilt,
And sinned again by mere habit…

Because the noisy crowd, I feared,
And scorn of tribes had me frightened,
And I had silent then remained,
And out of doors had not ventured…

If I had one to hear my case,
My accuser should write my blame,
I should wear it with bold a face.
Or on my head like diadem!

I should give Him my true account,
And like a prince before Him mount;
This is my final plea to God;
I’m finished, I await His rod!