Job’s Wife

Curse now thy God and die, for all is done. 
Thy bitter cup is filléd to the brim.
In all mankind there liveth not a one
That careth for thee. What art thou to him? 
There is no need for thee. The world is hard, 
And Love is not. Death only standeth by.
Faith is not known. From Hope thou art debarred 
Thou canst but choose twixt Death and Misery.
O, Life is sad and Death is sweet indeed 
To such as thou. If thou believest it,
He is a friend to help thee in thy need, 
And what is Life in that thou leavest it
As though it were a friend? Death's sleep is long 
Wilt thou not taste of Lethe and be strong?

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