THE SEDUCTION OF JOB: Twenty Years Later
A Dramatic Poem
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Job chooses poverty over dishonor.
JOB TO SELF:
O
Zorah, the light of my life,
Whose
love is a tonic to my bitter heart,
Whose
sweetness is a relief to my grieving soul,
Whose
forgiveness is a grace to my distraught spirit,
How
lower can I prostrate myself in contrition
So that
you can see my sorrow to the world's edge;
How
deeper can my cry of despair reach
So that
you can hear my wailing to the end of time?
Through
your sweetness is my transgression forgiven,
And in
your goodness even my wickedness finds mercy.
A woman
of all honor and no guile,
Impervious
to the foulness of man's corruption,
You
stand pure and unspoiled among the women of Uz.
The
king demands that I dishonor your name
In
order to save my possessions,
Or
choose to be dispossessed to bare bones
So that
your name will be spared of humiliation.
How
brutal is the choice that faces me;
How
exorbitant is the price you pay for my sins.
Life
will go on in poverty and destitution,
But to
dishonor your name through public scorn
And the
pain of private gossip‑mongering
Is
worse than to be damned without hope
And to
burn in scorching hell without death.
O
Zorah, your honor must be preserved at all cost,
And my
public trial avoided to save your dignity.
Yes, we
will surrender our great wealth
To
spare you from the greater affliction of shame.
You
lost your innocent trust in your husband;
Now
must you endure poverty because of him.
What is
the cause of your blunder
That
you should be chained with me?
How
cruel is your fate bound with mine,
How
sordid is my deed in league with the Devil!
In dirt
and dust must we find our dwelling;
From
tears and sighs would our sorrowful bread come;
And the
cold and wind should be our evening songs.
O the
curse of destitution, the haunting of emptiness!
I have
been wealthy long enough
To be
cursed by the forgotten memory of destitution,
Yet to
be haunted by the coming pain of emptiness.
Being
poor is the cold night without shelter,
Being
dispossessed the windy day that never ends.
O the
remembrance of my bread soaked in tears,
Of my
drink that filled the cup in my weeping,
Of the
pain endured during the long day,
And the
terror of the night knocking on the door!
By
visions and dreams I am followed
And in
illusions of death and doom do I tremble.
I awake
from nightmares gasping for breath,
Wondering
about this vision and that dream,
And
shuddering with fear for the things to come.
Mournful
is surely that I shall lose all I own,
For my
wealth is immense and long enjoyed;
Why I
will lose all is more mournful still;
For the
loss is by own sin, and none other,
And
shame must shadow my sin and my loss.
Loss by
any means is sorrowful enough,
Yet the
sorrow's strength becomes manifold
When
caused by sin and accompanied by shame.
How can
I explain my misfortune to anyone,
Where
shall I find justification for my fall,
And who
but myself will take the blame for my loss?
God
gives and God takes away
Why
should I be grieving, tears in my breathing,
That my
riches would be no more?
Was I
not blessed with my wealth
While
it remained within my possession
Perhaps
longer than I deserved?
Why
should I hesitate giving it up, back to God
From
Whom all things come and to Whom they return?
O the
fearful memories of my days in poverty:
The
dirt and dust that were my house and home;
The
tears and sighs that were my prayers;
And the
cold and wind that chilled my bones!
People
said in scorn and ridicule, "There goes Job;
He was
once rich, but look at him now!"
O how
their scorn severed my heartstrings;
O how
my bitterness rose in their ridicule!
If God
had never rewarded me with riches
At
least I would not be so desolate
With
the pain of my coming want.
In
mercy and justice God rewarded me with His fullness;
Now in
my folly would I return to my emptiness.
What
the Almighty gave me in noble grace
I must
yield in shame and disgrace.
But why
is the delight of gains
Always
smaller than the sorrow of loss?
Why is
the gainer's gratitude so short‑lived,
And why
so never‑ending is the loser's lamentation?
But
what is wealth if not temporary,
And who
is God if not just?
He
enriches and deprives as He wishes
And what
knowledge of man can comprehend His ways?
Naked
we are born, and naked we die.
In my
heart's bitterness I will seek God's comfort,
And in
my desolate longing shall I find His will.
O the
passing delight of my wealth that was,
The
looming tears of my poverty yet to come,
And the
sound of scorn and ridicule that will be‑‑
In
prayers I receive strength and hope from God;
But in
sorrow and dread do I taste the evil of my sin.
O still
to be pitied is the man once rich,
Now
fated to become poor for his penance,
Who
weeps for his once‑great possessions
That
shall soon be only dirt and dust.
Job's Sacrifice -- William Blake
