.

But I will pay-my God! my King! receive
The folemn vows my full affection gave,
When in thy temple, for a pfalm, I fing
Salvation only from my God, my king.

Thus ends the Prophet; firft from Canaan fent,
To let the Gentiles know they must repent:

God hears, and speaks; the Whale, at God's command,
Heaves to the light, and casts him forth to land.
With long fatigue, with unexpected eafe,
Opprefs'd ́a while, he lies afide the feas ;

His eyes, though glad, in strange astonish'd way
Stare at the golden front of chearful day;
Then, flowly rais'd, he fees the wonder plain,
And what he pray'd, he wrote, to fing again.

The fong recorded brings his vow to mind;
He must be thankful, for the Lord was kind;
Strait to the work he fhunn'd he flies in hafte
(That feems his vow, or feems a part at least);
Preaching he comes, and thus denounc'd to all,
Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall fall;

Fear feiz'd the Gentles, Nineveh believes;

All faft with penitence, and God forgives.

Nor yet of use the Prophet's fuffering fails, Hell's deep black bofom more than fhews the Whales But fome resemblance brings a type to view, The place was dark, the time proportion'd too. A race, the Saviour cries, a finful race, Tempts for a fign the powers of heavenly grace, And let them take the fign: as Jonah lay, Three days and nights within the fish of prey;

So fhall the Son of Man defcend below,
Earth's opening entrails fhall retain him fo.

My foul, now seek the song, and find me there
What Heaven has fhewn thee to repel despair;
See, where from Hell the breaks the crumbling ground,
Her hairs ftand upright, and they stare around;
Her horrid front deep-trenching wrinkles trace,
Lean fharpening looks deform her livid face;
Bent lie the brows, and at the bend below,
With fire and blood two wandering eye-balls glow;.
Fill'd are her arms with numerous aids to kill,
And God the fancies but the judge of ill.

Oh, fair-ey'd Hope! thou fee'ft the passion nigh,
Daughter of Promise, Oh forbear to fly!
Affurance holds thee, Fear would have thee go,
Clofe thy blue wings, and stand thy deadly foe;
The Judge of Ill is ftill the Lord of Grace,
As fuch behold him in the Prophet's cafe,
Caft to be drown'd, devour'd within the fea,
Sunk to the deep, and yet reftor'd' to day.

Oh, love the Lord, my foul, whose parent care
So rules the world he punishes to spare.
If heavy grief my downcaft heart oppres,
My body danger, or my state diftrefs,
With low fubmiffion in thy temper bow,
Like Jonah pray, like Jonah make thy vow;
With hopes of comfort kifs the chaftening rod,
And, fhunning mad despair, repofe in God;
Then, whatfoe'er the Prophet's vow defign,
Repentance, Thanks, and Charity, be mine.
Q3

HEZE

HEZEKIA H.

FROM the bleak beach, and broad expanse of fea, To lofty Salem, Thought, direct thy way; Mount thy light chariot, move along the plains, And end thy flight when Hezekiah reigns.

How fwiftly Thought has pafs'd from land to land, And quite out-run Time's meafuring-glass of fand! Great Salem's walls appear, and I refort

To view the state of Hezekiah's court.

Well may that king a pions verse inspire,
Who cleans'd the temple, who reviv'd the choir,
Pleas'd with the fervice David fix'd before,
That heavenly mufic might on earth adore.
Deep-rob'd in white, he made the Levites ftand
With cymbals, harps, and pfalteries in their hand';
He gave the priests their trumpets, prompt to raise
The tuneful foul, by force of found, to praife.
A fkilful mafter for the fong he chofe,

The fongs were David's thefe, and Afaph's thofe
Then burns their offering, all around rejoice,
Each tunes his inftrument to join the voice;
The trumpets founded, and the fingers fung,
The people worship'd, and the temple rung.
Each, while the victim burns, prefents his heart,
Then the priest bleffes, and the people part.

Hail! facred Mufic! fince you know to draw
The foul to heaven, the fpirit to the law,

I come to prove thy force, thy warbling string
May tune my foul to write what others fing.

But is this Salem? this the promis'd bliss,

These fighs and groans ? what means the realm by this?
What folemn forrow dwells in every street?

What fear confounds the downcast looks I meet?
Alas! the king! whole nations fink with woe,
When righteous kings are fummon'd hence to goe;
The king lies fick; and thus, to speak his doom,
The Prophet, grave Isaiah, stalks the room:
Oh, Prince, thy fervant, fent from God, believe,
Set all in order, for thou canst not live.
Solemn he said, and fighing left the place;
Deep prints of horror furrow'd every face;
Within their minds appear eternal glooms,
Black gaping marbles of their monarchs tombs ;
A king belov'd deceas'd, his offspring none,
And wars destructive, ere they fix the throne.
Strait to the wall he turn'd, with dark despair,
{'Twas tow'rds the temple, or for private prayer,)
And thus to God the pious monarch spoke,
Who burn'd the groves, the brazen ferpent broke :
Remember, Lord, with what a heart for right,
What care for truth, I walk'd within thy fight.
'Twas thus with terror, prayers, and tears, he tofs'd,
When the mid-court the grave Ifaiah crofs'd,
Whom, in the cedar columns of the fquare,
Meets a fweet Angel, hung in glittering air.
Seiz'd with a trance, he ftop'd, before his eye
Clears a rais'd arch of vifionary fky,

Where, as a minute pafs'd, the greater light
Purpling appear'd, and fouth'd and fet in night;
A moon fucceeding leads the starry train,
She glides, and sinks her ílver horns again :
A fecond fancied morning drives the fhades,
Clos'd by the dark, the fecond evening fades;
The third bright dawn awakes, and strait he sees
The temple rife, the monarch on his knees.
Pleas'd with the scene, his inward thoughts rejoice,
When thus the Guardian Angel form'd a voice:
Now tow'rds the captain of my people go,
And, Seer, relate him what thy visions show ;
The Lord has heard his words, and feen his tears,
And through fifteen extends his future years.

Here, to the room prepar'd with difmal black, The Prophet turning, brought the comfort back. Oh, monarch, hail, he cry'd; thy words are heard, Thy virtuous actions meet a kind regard;

God gives thee fifteen years, when thrice a day
Shews the round fun, within the temple pray.

When thrice the day! furpriz'd, the monarch cries,
When thrice the fun! what power have I to rife!
But, if thy comfort 's human or divine,
'Tis fhort to prove it-give thy prince a fign.
Behold, the Prophet cry'd, (and ftretch'd his hands)
Againft yon lattice, where the dial stands;
Now fhall the fun a backward journey go
Through ten drawn lines, or leap to ten below.
'Tis easier pofting Nature's airy track,
Replies the monarch: let the fun go back.

Attentive