Pain, a poem

With what trembling did aching Job
Stand before the whirlwind,
Hand across his gaping mouth
To render his complaint?

He tried—Lord knows how hard he tried—
To slip away unrecognized,
To nurse his humble agony
And play the wounded saint.

But no one who has dared to speak
To you about the world’s hurts
Can drop the thing so easily,
Once lifted in lament.

You summon us to take our stand
And state our case with girded hearts
Then hold us till you’ve heard us out
And all the pain is spent.