They met, and overwhelming her distrust  
With penitence, he praised away her fear;  
They married, and Job gave him half a year  
To wreck the temple, as we knew he must.  
He fumbled hungrily to readjust
A fallen altar, but the road was clear  
By which it was her will to disappear  
That evening when Job found him in the dust.  
 
Job would have deprecated such a way  
Of heaving fuel on a sacred fire,
Yet even the while we saw it going out,  
Hardly was Job to find his hour to shout;  
And Job was not, so far as we could say,  
The confirmation of her soul’s desire.
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