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Job 5 • God is Just

by Robert Hawkins © 2019

Cry for help, but will anyone answer?
To which saint will you turn to in vain?
For resentment will kill fools like cancer;
and from envy the simple are slain.

I have seen a fool's progress ascending,
then, abruptly his house has been cursed.
All his children -- in court -- need defending,
but none help get their ruling reversed.

Those who hunger consume what he's planted,
although guarded with brambles and stealth.
While the thirsty have endlessly panted
and have coveted after his wealth.

For affliction springs not from the soil;
from the earth, neither trouble nor pain.
Yet we're born to a lifetime of toil
just as surely as sparks from the flame.

As for me, I'd appeal to God's wonder
and I'd place my concerns in his hand;
see his marvelous deeds without number,
and his greatness we can't understand.

He brings rain to the world's four corners,
and sends water down into the field.
He uplifts the disgraced and the mourners;
provides solace for those who need healed.​

He so frustrates the plots of the scheming,
and defeats all the works of their hands.
He entraps those thought wise in their dreaming;
​sweeps away their most cunning of plans.

Every day will be dark and they'll stagger,
like they're groping at night -- but at noon.
But he rescues the poor from the dagger:
all the slander the mighty impugn.

There is hope for the poor and neglected;
when the jaws of injustice are barred.
Oh, how blest are those God has corrected;
so endeavor when life becomes hard.

For he wounds, still his arms can surround you;
and he strikes, yet his hands make you whole.
Six disasters, but none will confound you;
even seven, he'll safeguard your soul.

In a famine, he'll keep you from dying;
and in war, from the tip of the spear.
You'll be hidden from tongues that are lying;
face destruction without any fear.

You will laugh at all drought and disaster;
of wild beasts, you will not be afraid.
You'll commune with the stones in the pasture;
with its animals, peace will be made.

You will find that your home's sure and steady;
your possessions will be safe and sound.
And your offspring -- you know will be many;
your descendants, like grass on the ground.

You will come to your graveside full-seasoned,
just as ripe as the harvested sheave.
We've determined these things are well-reasoned.
​Simply listen to me and believe.

This poem was a finalist in the June 2020 poetry contest

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