Save the groov'd channels where they held their course 

 Among the fissur'd stones, his form of dust 

 With its chang'd countenance, is sent away 

 And all the honors that he sought to leave 

 Behind him to his sons, avail him not." 

 He ceas'd and Eliphaz rejoin'd, 

 "A man 

 Of wisdom dealeth not in empty words 

 That like the east wind stirs the unsettled sands 

 To profitless revolt. Thou dost decry 

 Our speech and proudly justify thyself 

 Before thy God. He to whose searching eye 

 Heavens' pure immaculate ether seems unclean. 

 Ask of tradition, ask the white hair'd men 

 Much older than thy father, since to us 

 Thou deign'st no credence. Say they not to thee, 

 All, as with one consent, the wicked man 

 Travaileth with fruitless pain, a dreadful sound 

 Forever in his ears; the mustering tramp 

 Of hostile legions on the distant cloud, 

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