Trembled, and every stiffening hair rose up. 

 A spirit pass'd before me, but I saw 

 No form thereof. I knew that there it stood, 

 Even though my straining eyes discern'd it not. 

 Then from its moveless lips a voice burst forth, 

 "Is man more just than God? Is mortal man 

 More pure than He who made him? 

 Lo, he puts 

 No trust in those who serve him, and doth charge 

 Angels with folly. How much less in them 

 Dwellers in tents of clay, whose pride is crush'd 

 Before the moth. From morn to eve they die 

 And none regard it." 

 So despise thou not 

 The chastening of the Almighty, ever just, 

 For did thy spirit please him, it should rise 

 More glorious from the storm-cloud, all the earth 

 At peace with thee, new offspring like the grass 

 Cheering thy home, and when thy course was done 

 Even as a shock of corn comes fully ripe 

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