But with this self-abasement toward his God Job mingled tenderest regard for man. No longer with indignant warmth he strove Against his false accusers, or retained Rankling remembrance of the enmity That vexed his wounded soul With earnest prayers And offerings, he implored offended Heaven To grant forgiveness to those erring friends, Paying with love the alienated course Of their misguided minds. Heaven heard his voice, And with that intercession sweet, return'd The sunbeams of his lost prosperity. Back came his buried joys. They had no power To harm a soul subdued. The refluent tide Of wealth swept o'er him. On his many hills Gathered the herds, and o'er his pastures green Sported the playful lambs. The tuneful voice Of children fill'd his desolate home with joy, And round his household board their beauty gleam'd, Making his spirit glad. So full of days, While twice our span of threescore years and ten, Mark'd out its silvery chronicle of moons Still to his knee his children's children climb'd To hear the wisdom he had learned of God Through the strong teaching both of joy and woe. * * * * * Nor had this sublunary scene alone, Witness'd his trial. Doubt ye not that forms To earth invisible were hovering near With the sublime solicitude of Heaven. For he, the bold, bad Spirit, in his vaunting pride Of impious revolt, had dared to say Unto the King of Kings, "Stretch forth thy hand And take away all that he hath, and Job Will curse Thee to Thy face." Methinks we hear An echo of angelic harmony From that blest choir who struck their harps with joy That from the Tempter's ordeal he had risen An unhurt victor. Round the Throne they pour'd Their gratulations that the born of clay Tho' by that mystery bow'd which ever veils The inscrutable counsels of the All-Perfect One, Might with the chieftain of the Rebel Host Cope unsubdued and heavenward hold his way. THE RURAL LIFE IN NEW-ENGLAND. INTRODUCTION. It may be thought that the following poem, especially its opening Canto is too minute and circumstantial in its descriptions. Yet the habitudes of a past and peculiar generation, fast fading from remembrance, are worthy of being preserved, though little accordant with romance, perhaps with poetry. So rapid has been our progress as a people, that dimness gathers over the lineaments of even our immediate ancestry. Yet traits at one period despised, or counted obsolete, may at another be diligently sought after and re-juvenated.