Swift messengers, and sharp, 

 Reapers that leave no gleanings. In their path 

 Silence and desolation fiercely stalk. 

 —O'er trampled hills, and on the blood-stain'd plains 

 There is no low of kine, or bleat of flocks, 

 The fields are rifled, and the shepherds slain. 

 The Man of Uz, who stood but yestermorn 

 Above all compeers,—clothed with wealth and power, 

 To day is poorer than his humblest hind. 

 A whirlwind from the desert! 

 All unwarn'd 

 Its fury came. Earth like a vassal shook. 

 Majestic trees flew hurtling through the air 

 Like rootless reeds. 

 There was no time for flight. 

 Buried in household wrecks, all helpless lay 

 Masses of quivering life. 

 Job's eldest son 

 That day held banquet for their numerous line 

 At his own house. With revelry and song, 

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