Fix'd in opinion, both refuse to yield,

And summon all their reason to the field:

So high at length their arguments were wrought, They reach'd the last extent of human thought: A pause ensu'd. When, lo! Heaven interpos'd, And awfully the long contention clos'd.

Full o'er their heads, with terrible surprise,
A sudden whirlwind blacken'd all the skies:
(They saw, and trembled!1) From the darkness
broke

A dreadful voice, and thus th' Almighty spoke.
Who gives his tongue a loose so bold and vain,
Censures my conduct, and reproves my reign?
Lifts up his thoughts against me from the dust,
And tells the world's Creator what is just?
Of late so brave, now lift a dauntless eye,
Face my demand, and give it a reply:
Where didst thou dwell at nature's early birth?
Who laid foundations for the spacious earth?
Who on its surface did extend the line,
Its form determine, and its bulk confine?
Who fix'd the corner-stone? What hand, declare,
Hung it on nought, and fasten'd it on air;

1 The book of Job is well known to be dramatic, and, like the tragedies of old Greece, is fiction built on truth. Probably this most noble part of it, the Almighty speaking out of the whirlwind (so suitable to the after-practice of the Greek stage, when there happened dignus vindice nodus) is fictitious; but is a fiction more agreeable to the time in which Job lived, than to any since. Frequent before the law were the appearances of the Almighty after this manner, Exod. c. xix. Ezek. c. i. &c. Hence is he said to "dwell in thick darkness: and have his way in the whirlwind."

When the bright morning stars in concert sung, When heaven's high arch with loud hosannas rung; When shouting sons of God the triumph crown'd, And the wide concave thunder'd with the sound? Earth's num'rous kingdoms, hast thou view'd them all?

And can thy span of knowledge grasp the ball? Who heav'd the mountain, which sublimely stands, And casts its shadow into distant lands?

Who, stretching forth his sceptre o'er the deep, Can that wide world in due subjection keep? I broke the globe, I scoop'd its hollow'd side, And did a bason for the floods provide ; I chain'd them with my word; the boiling sea, Work'd up in tempests, hears my great decree; "Thus far, thy floating tide shall be convey'd; And here, O main, be thy proud billows stay'd." Hast thou explor'd the secrets of the deep, Where, shut from use, unnumber'd treasures sleep? Where, down a thousand fathoms from the day, Springs the great fountain, mother of the sea? Those gloomy paths did thy bold foot e'er tread, Whole worlds of waters rolling o'er thy head?

There is a very great air in all that precedes, but this is signally sublime. We are struck with admiration to see the vast and ungovernable ocean receiving commands, and punctually obeying them; to find it like a managed horse, raging, tossing, and foaming, but by the rule and direction of its master. This passage yields in sublimity to that of "Let there be light," &c., so much only, as the absolute government of nature yields to the creation of it.

The like spirit in these two passages is no bad concurrent argument, that Moses is author of the book of Job.

Hath the cleft centre open'd wide to thee? Death's inmost chambers didst thou ever see? E'er knock at his tremendous gate, and wade To the black portal through th' incumbent shade? Deep are those shades; but shades still deeper hide My counsels from the ken of human pride.

Where dwells the light? In what refulgent dome? And where has darkness made her dismal home? Thou know'st, no doubt, since thy large heart is fraught

With ripen'd wisdom, through long ages brought; Since nature was call'd forth when thou wast by, And into being rose beneath thine eye!

Are mists begotten? Who their father knew?
From whom descend the pearly drops of dew?
To bind the stream by night, what hand can boast,
Or whiten morning with the hoary frost?
Whose powerful breath, from northern regions
blown,

Touches the sea, and turns it into stone?
A sudden desart spreads o'er realms defac'd,
And lays one half of the creation waste?

Thou know'st me not; thy blindness cannot see
How vast a distance parts thy God from thee.
Canst thou in whirlwinds mount aloft? Canst thou
In clouds and darkness wrap thy awful brow?
And, when day triumphs in meridian light,
Put forth thy hand, and shade the world with night?
Who launch'd the clouds in air, and bid them roll
Suspended seas aloft, from pole to pole?
Who can refresh the burning sandy plain,
And quench the summer with a waste of rain?

Who, in rough desarts, far from human toil, Made rocks bring forth, and desolation smile? There blooms the rose, where human face ne'er shone,

And spreads its beauties to the sun alone.

To check the shower, who lifts his hand on high,
And shuts the sluices of th' exhausted sky
When earth no longer mourns her gaping veins,
Her naked mountains, and her russet plains;
But, new in life, a cheerful prospect yields
Of shining rivers, and of verdant fields;
When groves and forests lavish all their bloom,
And earth and heaven are fill'd with rich perfume?
Hast thou e'er scal'd my wintry skies, and seen
Of hail and snows my northern magazine?
These the dread treasures of mine anger are,
My funds of vengeance for the day of war,
When clouds rain death, and storms, at my com-
mand,

Rage through the world, or waste a guilty land.
Who taught the rapid winds to fly so fast,
Or shakes the centre with his eastern blast?
Who from the skies can a whole deluge pour?
Who strikes through nature with the solemn roar
Of dreadful thunder, points it where to fall,
And in fierce lightning wraps the flying ball?
Not he who trembles at the darted fires,
Falls at the sound, and in the flash expires.

Who drew the comet out to such a size,
And pour'd his flaming train o'er half the skies?
Did thy resentment hang him out? Does he
Glare on the nations, and denounce, from thee?

Who on low earth can moderate the rein, That guides the stars along th' ethereal plain? Appoint their seasons, and direct their course, Their lustre brighten, and supply their force? Canst thou the skies' benevolence restrain, And cause the Pleiades to shine in vain ? Or, when Orion sparkles from his sphere, Thaw the cold season, and unbind the year? Bid Mazzaroth his destin'd station know, And teach the bright Arcturus where to glow? Mine is the night, with all her stars; I pour Myriads, and myriads I reserve in store.

[born, Dost thou pronounce where day-light shall be And draw the purple curtain of the morn; Awake the sun, and bid him come away,

And glad thy world with his obsequious ray?
Hast thou, inthron'd in flaming glory, driven
Triumphant round the spacious ring of heaven?
That pomp of light, what hand so far displays,
That distant earth lies basking in the blaze?
Who did the soul with her rich powers invest,
And light up reason in the human breast?
To shine, with fresh increase of lustre, bright,
When stars and sun are set in endless night?
To these my various questions make reply.
Th' Almighty spoke; and, speaking, shook the sky.
What then, Chaldæan sire, was thy surprise!
Thus thou, with trembling heart, and downcast

eyes:

"Once and again, which I in groans deplore, My tongue has err'd; but shall presume no more. My voice is in eternal silence bound,