If then to aid the flight abets the fin,
They think to land him where they took him in.
Perhaps, to quit the caufe, might end the woe,
And, God appeafing, let the vessel go.
For this they fix their oars, and ftrike the main,
But God withstands them, and they ftrike in vain.
The storm increafes more with want of light,
Low blackening clouds involve the ship in night;
Thick battering rains fly through the driving fkies,
Loud thunder bellows, darted lightning flies;
A dreadful picture night-born horror drew,
And his, or their's, or both their fates, they view.
Then thus to God they cry: Almighty power,
Whom we ne'er knew till this defpairing hour,
From this devoted blood thy fervants free,
To us he 's innocent, if fo to thee;
In all the past we fee thy wond'rous hand,
And that he perish, think it thy command.
This prayer perform'd, they caft the Prophet o'er; A furge receives him, and he mounts no more; Then ftill 's the thunder, ceafe the flames of blue, The rains abated, and the winds withdrew; The clouds ride off, and, as they march away, Through every breaking shoots a chearful day; The fea, which rag'd fo loud, accepts the prize, A while it rolls, then all the tempeft dies; By gradual finking, flat the surface grows, And fafe the reffel with the failors goes. The Lion thus, that bounds the fences o'er, And makes the mountain-echoes learn to roar,
If on the lawn a branching deer he rend,
Then falls his hunger, all his roarings end;
Murmuring a while, to reft his limbs he lays,
And the freed lawn enjoys its herd at ease.
Blefs'd with the fudden calm, the failors own
That wretched Jonah worship'd right alone;
Then make their vows, the victim sheep prepare,
Bemoan the Prophet, and the God revere.
Now, though you fear to lofe the power to breathe,
Now, though you tremble, Fancy, dive beneath;
What worlds of wonders in the deep are feen!
But this the greateft-Jonah lives within!
The man who fondly fled the Maker's view,
Strange as the crime, has found a dungeon too.
God fent a monster of the frothing sea,
Fit, by the bulk, to gorge the living prey,
And lodge him ftill alive; this hulk receives
The falling Prophet, as he dash'd the waves.
There, newly wak'd from fancied death, he Hes,
And oft again in apprehenfion dies :
While three long days and nights, depriv'd of fleep,
He turn'd and tofs'd him up and down the deep,
He thinks the judgment of the strangest kind,
And much he wonders what the Lord defign'd;
Yet, fince he lives, the gift of life he weighs,
That's time for prayer, and thus a ground for praise ;
From the dark entrails of the whale to thee,
(This new contrivance of a hell to me)
To thee, my God, I cry'd; my full distress
Pierc'd thy kind ear, and brought my foul redress.
Caft to the deep I fell, by thy command,
Caft in the midft, beyond the reach of land;
Then to the midst brought down, the seas abide
Beneath my feet, the seas on every fide;
In ftorms the billow, and in calms the wave,
Are moving coverings to my wandering grave.
Fore'd by defpair, I cry'd, How to my cost
I fled thy prefence, Oh, for ever loft!
But hope revives my foul, and makes me fay,
Yet tow'rds thy temple fhall I turn and pray ;
Or, if I know not here where Salem lies,
Thy temple 's heaven, and faith has inward eyes.
Alas! the waters, which my whale furround,
Have through my forrowing foul a paffage found;
And now the dungeon moves, new depths I try,
New thoughts of danger all his paths fupply.
The last of deeps affords the laft of dread,
And wraps its funeral weeds around my head:
Now o'er the fand his rollings feem to go,
Where the big mountains root their base below;
And now to rocks and clefts their course they take,
Earth's endless bars, too ftrong for me to break;
Yet, from th' abyfs, my God! thy grace divine
Hath call'd him upward, and my life is mine.
Still, as I tofs'd, I scarce retain'd my breath,
My foul was fick within, and faint to death.
'Twas then I thought of thee, for pity pray'd,
And to thy temple flew the prayers I made.
The men, whom lying vanity enfnares,
Forfake thy mercy, that which might be theirs.
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; first 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 cafts him forth to land..
With long fatigue, with unexpected ease,
Opprefs'd a while, he ligs afide the feas.;.
His eyes, though glad, in strange aftonish'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 fhall fall;
Fear feiz'd the Gentles, Nineveh believes ;
All faft with penitence, and God forgives.
Nor yet of ufe the Prophet's fuffering fails,
Hell's deep black bofom more than fhews the Whales„.
But fome refemblance 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 fit of prey;
So fhall the Son of Man defcend below,
Earth's opening entrails fhall retain him fo.
My foul, now feek the fong, and find me there
What Heaven has fhewn thee to repel defpair;
See, where from Hell the breaks the crumbling ground,
Her hairs ftand upright, and they ftare 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 paffion nigh,
Daughter of Promife, Oh forbear to fly!
Affurance holds thee, Fear would have thee go,.
Close 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, whofe parent care
So rules the world he punishes to fpare.
If heavy grief my downcaft heart oppress,
My body danger, or my ftate distress,
With low fubmiffion in thy temper bow,
Like Jonah pray, like Jonah make thy vow;
With hopes of comfort kiss the chaftening rod,
And, thunning mad defpair, repofe in God;
Then, whatfoe'er the Prophet's vow design,
Repentance, Thanks, and Charity, be mine.
Q 2
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