there might be “more things in heaven and earth” than were dreamt of in their philosophy—­but this is the one thing which they could not do, which the theologian proper never has done or will do.  And thus whatever of calmness or endurance, Job alone, on his ash-heap, might have conquered for himself, is all scattered away; and as the strong gusts of passion sweep to and fro across his heart, he pours himself out in wild fitful music, so beautiful because so true, not answering them or their speeches, but now flinging them from him in scorn, now appealing to their mercy, or turning indignantly to God; now praying for death; now in perplexity doubting whether, in some mystic way which he cannot understand, he may not, perhaps after all, really have sinned, and praying to be shown it; and, then, staggering further into the darkness, and breaking out into upbraidings of the Power which has become so dreadful an enigma to him.  “Thou inquirest after my iniquity, thou searchest after my sin, and thou knowest that I am not wicked.  Why didst thou bring me forth out of the womb?  Oh, that I had given up the ghost, and no eye had seen me.  Cease, let me alone.  It is but a little while that I have to live.  Let me alone, that I may take comfort a little before I go, whence I shall not return to the land of darkness and the shadow of death.”  In what other poem in the world is there pathos so deep as this?  With experience so stern as his, it was not for Job to be calm, and self-possessed, and delicate in his words.  He speaks not what he knows, but what he feels; and without fear the writer allows him to throw it out all genuine as it rises, not overmuch caring how nice ears might be offended, but contented to be true to the real emotion of a genuine human heart.  So the poem runs on to the end of the first answer to Zophar.

But now with admirable fitness, as the contest goes forward, the relative position of the speakers begins to change.  Hitherto Job only had been passionate; and his friends temperate and collected.  Now, however, shocked at his obstinacy, and disappointed wholly in the result of their homilies, they stray still further from the truth in an endeavour to strengthen their position, and, as a natural consequence, visibly grow angry.  To them Job’s vehement and desperate speeches are damning evidence of the truth of their suspicion.  Impiety is added to his first sin, and they begin to see in him a rebel against God.  At first they had been contented to speak generally; and much which they had urged was partially true:  now they step forward to a direct application, and formally and personally accuse himself.  Here their ground is positively false; and with delicate art it is they who are now growing passionate, and wounded self-love begins to show behind their zeal For God; while in contrast to them, as there is less and less truth in what they say, Job grows more and more collected.  For a time it had seemed doubtful how he would endure his trial.  The light of his