it hath dust of gold.  That path no bird of prey knoweth, Neither hath the falcon’s eye seen it:  The proud beasts have not trodden it, Nor hath the fierce lion passed thereby.  He putteth forth his hand upon the flinty rock; He overturneth the mountains by the roots.  He cutteth out channels among the rocks; And his eye seeth every precious thing.  He bindeth the streams that they trickle not; And the thing that is hid bringeth he forth to light.  But where shall wisdom be found?  And where is the place of understanding?  Man knoweth not the price thereof; Neither is it found in the land of the living.  The deep saith, It is not in me:  And the sea saith, It is not with me.  It cannot be gotten for gold, Neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof.  It cannot be valued with the gold of Ophir, With the precious onyx, or the sapphire.  Gold and glass cannot equal it:  Neither shall the exchange thereof be jewels of fine gold.  No mention shall be made of coral or of crystal:  Yea, the price of wisdom is above rubies.  The topaz of Ethiopia shall not equal it, Neither shall it be valued with pure gold.  Whence then cometh wisdom?  And where is the place of understanding?  Seeing it is hid from the eyes of all living, And kept close from the fowls of the air.  Destruction and Death say, We have heard a rumour thereof with our ears.  God understandeth the way thereof, And he knoweth the place thereof.  For he looketh to the ends of the earth, And seeth under the whole heaven; To make a weight for the wind; Yea, he meteth out the waters by measure.  When he made a decree for the rain, And a way for the lightning of the thunder:  Then did he see it, and declare it; He established it, yea, and searched it out.  And unto man he said, Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom; And to depart from evil is understanding.

Is that poetry?  Surely it is poetry.  Can you improve it with the embellishments of rhyme and strict scansion?  Well, sundry bold men have tried, and I will choose, for your judgment, the rendering of a part of the above passage by one who is by no means the worst of them—­a hardy anonymous Scotsman.  His version was published at Falkirk in 1869: 

  His hand on the rock the adventurer puts,
  And mountains entire overturns by the roots;
  New rivers in rocks are enchased by his might,
  And everything precious revealed to his sight;
  The floods from o’er-flowing he bindeth at will,
  And the thing that is hid bringeth forth by his skill.

  But where real wisdom is found can he shew? 
  Or the place understanding inhabiteth?  No! 
  Men know not the value, the price of this gem;
  ’Tis not found in the land of the living with them. 
  It is not in me, saith the depth; and the sea
  With the voice of an echo, repeats, Not in me.

(I have a suspicion somehow that what the sea really answered, in its northern vernacular, was ‘Me either.’)