Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

How Heav'n, provok'd, an awful Look assumes,
And human kind to just Destruction dooms;
What wrests the Thunder from Jehovah's hand,
And saves, from Ruin, a rebellious Land;

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What reconciles the furious Winds to Peace,
And makes the Waves their fierce Contention cease;
Sing, heav'nly Muse, in thy religious Strains:
The Pleasure will compensate all the Pains.

“Eternal Spirit, favour the Design,
“Inspire my Thoughts, and polish ev'ry Line.
“Where sacred Precepts oft successless prove,
“Examples, to Advantage shewn, may move.

In early Times, well known to publick Fame,
A City flourish'd, Nineveh by Name,
First built, and peopl'd, by Assyrian Bands,
That spread their Conquests o'er the eastern Lands.
Armenian Tigris thro' her forc'd a Way,
With Stream majestick, to the Persian Sea.
Walls high and broad were rear'd for her Defence,
Full fifty Miles in wide Circumference.

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As Shrubs are lost beneath the awful Shade
Of tow'ring Trees, she rais'd her lofty Head
O'er neighbouring Towns; at home more rich, and great!
Abroad more fam'd for Merchandise, and State!

But, ah, how basely Men Dominion use,
And Providence's liberal Gifts abuse?
What dire Effects from Ease and Plenty flow?
And to what Heights does Vice, unpunish'd, grow?
Lust, Rapine, Blood, Idolatry, and Strife,
(The sure Attendants of luxurious Life)
Like Floods, unbounded, pour'd their Forces in,
And Nineveh was delug'd o'er with Sin.
What foreign Foes cou'd not, by Force, obtain,
Thro' many a long, and hazardous, Campaign,
Was basely yielded, by themselves, in Peace,
As People grew effeminate by Ease.

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Now, losing Sense of Honour, and of Fame,
They reign in Vice, and triumph in their Shame;
Like Brutes undisciplin'd, licentious, rove,
And act whate'er their Fancies most approve.
Here, Adoration to the Stones is paid,
There, guilty Lovers in the Streets are laid.
Riot and Death in ev'ry Corner reign,
And the whole City turn'd a hideous Scene.
Now, nigh an End appears the Day of Grace,
And Judgment ripens to destroy the Place;
On Wings of Wind, the Ministers of Wrath
Equip themselves, to scatter gen'ral Death;
When soothing Mercy thus, for Patience, cry'd,
“Must Nineveh be then, at once, destroy'd?
“True, she has sinn'd, and merits dreadful Woe;
“But does Heav'n always treat its Creatures so?

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“Thou usest not to punish all alike,
“And unrelenting, in thy Justice, strike.
“With those, that better Means have had, than they,
“Who blindly wander from thy righteous Way,
“Wilt thou deal kinder? Shall thy Mercy spare
“Ungrateful Rebels, and be wanting here?
“Perhaps, were they instructed in thy Law,
“They'd serve thee better, and stand more in Awe:
“Or, were they warn'd, before the Woe is sent,
“They'd hear thy Voice, and, as they hear, repent.
“O let thy Goodness still its Sway maintain,
“And prove the Glory of th' Almighty's Reign.
“May Mercy, with engaging Charms, arrest
“Thy Hand, and thence the vengeful Thunder wrest.

Th' Almighty hearken'd with a gracious Ear,
And had Regard to the prevailing Pray'r;

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By it o'ercome, aside his Wrath he laid,
And, full of Pity, threat'ning Angels staid.

Then soon to Jonah, old Amittai's Son,
In Judah's Land, was God's Commission known.

“Haste, Prophet, haste to Nineveh the great,
“And warn the People of approaching Fate;
“Tell 'em, from me, that, e're the Night and Day
“Twice twenty Times, by turns, assert their Sway,
“Their boasted Numbers, to Destruction doom'd,
“Shall sudden be, like Sodom's Sons, consum'd;
“Unless, by speedy Penitence and Pray'r,
“They gain Admittance to our gracious Ear.

The Prophet's Mind a sudden Terror fill'd,
And, thro' his Veins, a trembling Horror thrill'd;
O'er all his Vitals dire Confusion hung,
And falt'ring Accents die upon his Tongue.

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His Limbs turn feeble, Hairs as Bristles rise,
Pale grows his Face, and Darkness strikes his Eyes.
This Way and that he turns his thoughtful Mind,
Now loves, now slights, the Purpose he design'd.
Sometimes resolves his Message to perform;
Sometimes he dreads to plunge in such a Storm.
Pensive in Doubt his Way-ward Mind remains,
Till slavish Fear the Government obtains.
The dastard Passion drives him blindly on,
'Till Sense of Shame and Gratitude was gone.
Now he, distracted, makes Attempt to fly,
And hide himself from the omniscient Eye.
Vain Man! to think there was a distant Land
Beyond the Reach of an Almighty Hand:
Or he, who knows the inward Heart of Man,
Does weigh each Word, and ev'ry Action scan,

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Cou'd not pursue the Sinner, where he goes,
And overtake him with avenging Woes.

In th' utmost Coasts of Judah is a Scene,
Where Taurus' Cliffs o'erlook the spacious Main,
That Dan's bless'd Off-spring, in their Portion, got,
When Jacob's Race did Canaan share by Lot.
Hither the flying Prophet came, and found,
Ev'n to his Wish, a Ship for Cydnus bound;
Distrusting Heav'n, sought Safety from the Sea,
And hop'd to 'scape the dangerous Nineveh.

The Passage hir'd, the shouting Fellow-Train
Their Canvas spread, and launch into the Main.
Assisted by a gentle Gale of Wind,
They skim the Deep, and hope the Port assign'd.

Then from his high Empyreal Abode,
In Storms and Tempests down Jehovah rode.

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A dark Pavilion o'er the Deep he spread,
And, from the awful Gloom, he, threat'ning, said.

“Does Rebel Jonah try t'elude my Sight,
“Or ward my Vengeance, by his speedy Flight?
“Tho' from the Land, where I am known, he flies,
“Hopes he to sculk from my omniscient Eyes?
“And were he safely landed on the Shore,
“Cou'd Tarsus hide him from avenging Pow'r?
“But soon, as I confound the spacious Main,
“He'll know that Universal is my Reign.

He said, and sudden from their noisy Cave,
Th' imprison'd Winds, in hasty Tumult, rave.
Thunder and Lightning, with portentous Glare,
Incessant flash, and grumble thro' the Air.
Dread Hurricanes, and raging Tempests, rise,
Embroil the Deep, and dash the distant Skies.

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A Gloom of Clouds the Face of Day o'er-spreads,
And wild Confusion fills the oozy Beds.
Now Alps of Water bears the Vessel high;
Then, buried in th' Abyss, she seems to lye.
The Sails are torn, the Ropes asunder break,
The Sides are bruis'd, and slipp'ry is the Deck.
A ghastly Paleness, in each Face appears,
And Death, portended, aggravates their Fears.
To their deaf Gods the Sailors turn their Eyes,
And tell their Case, in disregarded Cries.
Some, on their Knees, old Ocean's Grace implore,
And, to appease him, sacrifice their Store.
To Leda's Sons some tell their mournful Tale,
And some with Jove endeavour to prevail.
Like Baalam's Priests, they cry aloud, in vain:
No fancy'd God, or knew, or cur'd, their Pain.

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Relentless Justice heightens still the Storm,
And Ruin stares, in ev'ry frightful Form.

But Jonah, harden'd in his dire Offence,
And thoughtless of the Turn of Providence;
Howe'er the Cause of all the threat'ning Woe,
Retir'd alone, and hid himself below.
Asleep, or stun'd, no Dangers cou'd awake
His senseless Mind, 'till thus the Pilot spake;

“Thou Sluggard, who, amidst our common Woes,
“Can'st thus, unmov'd, thy self to Death expose;
“What art thou? Where are all thy Senses gone?
“Ha'st thou no God? Or know'st thou there is one?
“Shake off thy Slumber, and devoutly sue
“For Common Safety to thy self, and Crew.
“Perhaps thy Guardian, for thy Sake, may send
“Relief to thee that may us all befriend.

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Thus he most sluggish was, who most had sinn'd,
And thus a Heathen rouz'd a Prophet's Mind!

Mean while the Sailors hold a hot Debate
About the Cause of their impending Fate.
One reckons Murder is the fatal Spring;
Another Treason 'gainst the State, or King.
But all agreed some impious Wretch was there,
On whose Account, the Gods were so severe:
And all resolv'd to find him out, by Lot,
Whoe'er he was, or whatsoe'er his Fault.

Now, one by one, their trembling Hands advance!
Each was afraid the Lot shou'd prove his Chance.
Each looks with Terror on his Actions past,
And, at the Thoughts of dying, stands aghast.
Each thought the Tempest for his Crimes was sent;
And all look'd pale about the dire Event.

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Vain were their Fears; for Jonah was to come,
Jonah! the Cause, the Subject, of the Doom.
The trembling Wretch, no sooner shook the Urn,
Than all their Eyes on him, the guilty, turn.
All, curious, press to learn from whence he came,
What his Condition was, and what his Name.
Conscious of Ill, he feels an inward Smart,
And sad Distraction rages in his Heart.
His outward Form declares his secret Pain;
For Looks, the Language of the Soul explain.

How easy 'tis for Men to murder Fame!
But who can stifle his own Sense of Shame?
The Wretch, that to an abject State is thrown,
Than Mankind's Favour, loses more his own.

There is a Judge in ev'ry human Breast,
The Source of constant Trouble, or of Rest.

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This Inmate Friend, or Foe, will still prevail,
And overtake the Sinner under Sail:
Swifter than Wind, it flies where'er he goes,
And bears along a Train of cutting Woes.
No Crime so secret, but it ponders well,
And reprehends with an interior Hell.
This Guest, unseen, now dreadfully appears,
To hollow Rebel thro' the Prophet's Ears.
Prompted by it, he frank Confession made,
And, after Silence was commanded, said;

“'Twou'd be in vain for me, with sly Deceit,
“To plead not-guilty, and my Cause debate.
“He, whom the jarring Elements obey,
“Who governs all Things with despotick Sway,
“To whom all Nature's open at a View,
“Wou'd soon my Crime, as now he does, pursue:

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“Favour'd as others of that chosen Race,
“The Seed of Jacob, Objects of his Grace,
“My Lot was cast in Judah's pleasant Land,
“Where joyn'd I was to a distinguish'd Band,
“That knows God's Mind, and bears his high Command.

“Long I had dwelt in Sion's holy Hill,
“And prophesy'd to Men my Master's Will,
“When, by Commission, I was charg'd to go,
“And warn th' Assyrians of approaching Woe.
“Yet, much distrusting providential Care,
“I rather chuse to fly, than perish there.

“Unthinking Wretch! to disobey my God,
“Since sad Destruction waits his awful Nod;
“And they, that sin against the clearest Light,
“Provoke him most t'exert his vengeful Might.

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“Now, here I stand an Object of his Wrath,
“And, for my Sake, you're all expos'd to Death.
“Ye charge the Horrours of the Deep in vain,
“And, to deaf Idol Deities, complain.
“His Word, that turn'd these wat'ry Worlds to Flame,
“That Flame to Tempest, can alone the Tempest tame.

The Sailors now, with this Account, amaz'd,
All trembling stood, and on each other gaz'd.
A deadly Cold ran shiv'ring to their Hearts,
Thrill'd in their Veins, and froze their inward Parts.
All, for the Prophet, utmost Pity show'd,
And, as they cou'd, the sinking Vessel row'd.
But Winds rage furious, swelling Billows roar,
Clouds clash with Clouds, and Lightnings play the more.
All Nature wore Confusion in her Face,
And seem'd as jostled from her proper Place.

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The Luminaries of the Heav'ns were pent,
And Sheets of curling Smoke involv'd the Firmament.

So, when the grim Inhabitants of Hell,
From Realms of Light, for Disobedience, fell,
Nothing was heard around the dreary Coasts,
But sullen Moans and Cries of tortur'd Ghosts:
And nought was seen, but Gleams of sulph'rous Light,
Which join'd the Gloom, and made more dreadful Night.

Now Hopes were lost, and all Essays thought vain,
To Jonah thus the Sailors turn again.

“Since by thy Fault (as thou did'st now confess)
“We labour, helpless, in this dire Distress,
“Tell, if thou know'st thy pow'rful Deity's Will,
“How we may best the raging Tempest still;
“What Means are needful, to appease his Wrath,
“And save our selves, if possible, from Death.

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The Prophet, trembling, made 'em this Reply;
“T'atone for Guilt, the guilty Soul must die.
“For me alone hath happ'ned all this Woe:
“The Storm is mine, not your avenging Foe.
“Make Haste to plunge me, in the swelling Deep,
“And all your Cares, and all the Winds, shall sleep.
“Soon as the Ship of such a Weight is eas'd,
“A Calm shall spread, and Justice be appeas'd.

Again, the pitying Sailors ply'd their Oars,
With Skill and Strength, to reach the Tarsian Shores,
But ceas'd, at length, t'employ a fruitless Care,
And thus to Heav'n address'd their pious Pray'r.

“O pow'rful Being! of all Gods the best!
“Regard, we pray, regard our sad Request.
“Thou know'st, we thirst not for thy Servant's Life,
“Nor are we prompted by revengeful Strife;

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“We covet not the Riches he enjoys,
“Nor is his Death our Pleasure, but his Choice.
“Thee, by his Crimes, he has enrag'd; and now
“Thy Justice threatens to inflict the Blow.
“We Instruments are only in thy Hand,
“To execute what Justice does demand.
“Then, from the Guilt of Blood, thy Suppliants save,
“Nor Satisfaction, in thy Fury, crave.

With strange Reluctance, the obedient Crew
Into the Deep the Rebel Jonah threw.
Down he descends; and o'er his destin'd Head
The Waters close—he's number'd with the Dead.
But, as he sinks, the Winds retire apace,
No more the Billows ruffle Ocean's Face;
The Clouds disperse, the Air appears serene,
And sacred Silence reigns o'er all the Main.

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So at the Dawning of our new made World,
When jarring Elements apart were hurl'd,
Rude Chaos from his old Dominion fled,
And peaceful Order round its Influence spread.

Now, struck with Wonder, all the Sailors raise
Their grateful Voices to th' Almighty's Praise,
Are taught with humble Reverence to view
His wond'rous Work, and to his Wisdom bow.
No more they vainly pious Tribute bring
To their false Gods, but to th' eternal King.
Him they adore, and beg his friendly Hand,
To guide 'em safe to the long wish'd for Land.

What sudden Change! The Sea is all serene,
And Gladness in each Countenance is seen.
All seize their Oars, and, with elated Minds,
To urge their Haste, invite the willing Winds.

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The willing Winds the spreading Sail supply,
While from each Side the yielding Waters fly;
Upon the Tide the wanton Dolphins play;
And fair in Sight appears the Tarsian Bay.

But Jonah, whom, of late, no Ship cou'd save,
By Care divine, rests in a living Grave.
With ardent Soul to Heav'n for Help he pray'd,
And Heav'n, in Pity, sent him speedy Aid.
The Word was giv'n, and soon the scaly Herd
Forgot their Hunger, and the Prey rever'd.
Proud to attend the Stranger, all draw near,
'Till their huge King, Leviathan, appear,
That, as a Mountain of enormous Size,
Confounds the Deep, and laves the distant Skies,
O'er finny Shoals maintains despotick Reign,
And rolls, in State, thro' the capacious Main.

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As yawns an Earth-quake, he, at God's Command,
Strange to relate! does his large Jaws expand,
Disclose the hideous Cavern of his Womb,
And there, alive, the trembling Seer entomb.

Now, safe within the monstrous Whale he lies,
And all the Force of Winds, and Waves, defies.
Where Light ne'er enter'd, now he draws his Breath,
And glides serene thro' liquid Paths of Death.

Yet, whilst our Prophet is in Prison hurl'd
Thro' all the Lab'rinths of the wat'ry World,
By pow'rful Faith, he overcomes Despair,
And, as from Hell, puts up this pious Pray'r;
“To thee, my God, enthron'd above the Sky,
“From dismal Caverns of the Deep I cry.
“No Floods, no Billows can controul my Mind:
“The Thoughts of Man are ever unconfin'd

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“Unwearied, as the active Flames, they move,
“And wander thro' the distant Realms above.

“For me, amidst the Horrours of my Case,
“I'll hope for Mercy, and implore thy Grace.
“While thou can'st pardon, tho' thou look'st severe,
“There's Place for Sinner's Hope, as well as Fear.
“Tho' here expell'd, and banish'd from thy Sight,
“By Faith, in my Salvation I'll delight.
“Why shou'd I, helpless, in my Ship-wreck, mourn,
“Since Faith a Judge can to a Saviour turn?

“Tho' Darkness round me all her Terrors spread,
“The dreadful Billows bellow o'er my Head,
“And I'm confin'd in Caverns of the Main,
“Amidst my Woes, I'll Faith and Hope maintain.
“Thou, who can'st shake the Center, can'st controul
“The Rebel Pow'rs of my tumultuous Soul,

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“Restrain the wild Disorder of my Blood,
“And save me from the Dangers of the Flood.

“More readily we cannot Mercy plead
“In our Distress, than thou vouchsaf'st thine Aid.
“Soon as I, sinking in the Waters, cry'd,
“Thy great Command o'er-rul'd the booming Tide,
“And sent this huge Leviathan, in Haste,
“To save my Life, e're Remedy was past.
“Coud'st thou, when such a guilty Wretch did crave,
“A Miracle perform, his Life to save?
“And shall I fear thou wilt not find a Way,
“To shew me yet the pleasant Light of Day?

“No: thou wilt back an humble Captive bring,
“And make thy Prophet, in Thy Temple, sing.
“I'll trust thy Mercy, whose Almighty Arm
“Has Pow'r to rescue me from ev'ry Harm.

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“The Time will come, when I, for my Release,
“Shall bless my God, with Offerings of Peace,
“When freed from all the Fetters that surround
“And hold me here, as in close Prison, bound,
“I shall again to Men, thy Mind reveal,
“And of thy Pow'r, thy Love, and Goodness, tell.
“It shall be said, thy Arm Deliv'rance wrought,
“And, from th' Abyss, an humble Suppliant brought.

“Ye blinded Zealots, who in Error stray,
“And to deaf Gods your senseless homage pay,
“Your Vanities with fiery Zeal pursue;
“Whil'st I before th' Eternal's Footstool bow:
“He scorns the Gifts of Riches, and of Art,
“And loves the off'rings of an upright Heart.

“Oh! may I never tempt him, as before,
“But always grateful, as I shou'd, adore;

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“By Lip, and Life, his glorious Praises sound,
“And spread the Story of his Mercies round.

The Prophet's Suit, with Faith and Fervour join'd,
Soon reach'd his Throne, and sooth'd th' Almighty's Mind.

From deepest Dungeons Pray'r can wing its Flight,
And, uncontroul'd, invade the Realms of Light.
As Sun-beams fierce, it scales Heav'ns lofty Walls,
And the high Portals open, when it calls.
Its Pow'r cou'd stop the Chariot of the Sun,
And, to the Flesh, bring back the Spirit gone.

Now, thro' th' Abyss the restless Monster roam'd,
And, flound'ring high, anew the Billows foam'd.
In Spite of Nature's strong and common Laws,
He's forced to expand his wide-devouring Jaws,
And vomit forth, at the Divine Command,
Unhurt, the wond'ring Prophet on the Land.

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Thrice had the Sun his daily Race renew'd,
E'er Jonah, safe, his Fellow Creatures view'd.
A Type of that far greater Bliss to come,
When Man's Redeemer, buried in a Tomb,
Shou'd ride victorious o'er infernal Pow'rs,
Lead Captive Death, and break his Prison Doors!

What can't th' Almighty Pow'r of God perform?
His Word can raise, and sudden calm a Storm.
The Elements from nat'ral Jarrs he keeps,
And makes unfrozen Billows stand in Heaps.
The dreadful Monsters, that infest the Main,
Are all obsequious Subjects of his Reign.
His Word can frustrate Hell's pernicious Ends,
And, out of cruel Foes, make kind protecting Friends.

Wet on the Shore the wond'ring Jonah lay,
When soon from Heav'n a Voice forbade his Stay;

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“Haste, Prophet, haste to Nineveh the great,
“And warn the People of impending Fate;
“Let thy Experience teach, that, 'twould be vain
“For thee, unpunish'd, to make Shift again.

Now Jonah, fearing God's Displeasure more
Than he had done the Wrath of Men before,
To Nineveh directs his speedy Pace,
Nor stop'd, 'till he had reach'd th' appointed Place,
A Place so spacious, that the circling Sun,
E're it was travel'd round, might thrice his Journey run.

Aurora now had just begun to gild
The blushing Skies, and animate the Field,
When Jonah enters at the opening Gates,
Nor for a crowded Auditory waits;
But, breaking Silence, boldly thus begins
To threaten Judgments for their crying Sins.

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“Attend, ye destin'd Citizens, and hear
“The dreadful Message I, a Prophet, bear.
“To you I'm sent by the supreme Command,
“Of him, whose Scepter governs Sea and Land;
“Whose steddy Ballance does the Mountains sway,
“Whose reign the wild and barbarous Beasts obey;
“Around whose Throne, array'd in heavenly State,
“Myriads of Angels for their Orders wait,
“In flaming Fire, as on the Wings of Wind,
“To punish all that with Presumption sinn'd.
“Thus, o'er Gomorrah, ripe for weighty Wrath,
“At one dread Nod, he spread a gen'ral death.
“And now, e're yonder Globe of radiant Light
“Twice twenty Times dispel the Shades of Night,
“Great Nineveh, whose Crimes for Vengeance cry,
“In ruinous Heaps, Gomorrah like, shall lie.

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“Impartial Justice, with a Hand severe,
“No Age, no Sex, no Quality will spare.
“Riches and Pow'r shall prove a weak Defence
“Against the Bolts of God's Omnipotence.

As boldly thus the Prophet cry'd aloud,
The Streets turn'd frequent by the list'ning crowd.
All Sorts of People press, his Words to hear,
And, conscious of their Guilt, the threatned Vengeance fear.

But who the Pain the destin'd Wretches feel,
Without a Sorrow, like their own, can tell?
Uproar and Noise the populous City fill'd,
And, thro' all Veins, a trembling horrour thrill'd.
Some rave with Madness, and confirm'd Despair,
Beat their swoln Breasts, and tear their tatter'd Hair;
Whilst others draw, in still-born Sounds, their Breath,
And shiver at the fearful Thoughts of Death.

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All, earnest, turn to Heav'n their melting Eyes,
And plead for Mercy with accented cries.
Distinctions vanish in the common Woe:
All have deserv'd, and strive to ward, the Blow.
The King himself, the Monarch of the East,
Of highest Pomp and Luxury possest,
Whose conquering Arms, to distant Nations spread,
Make Princes slaves, and fill the World with Dread;
Soon as the fatal Tidings reach'd his Ears,
Begins to think, and stoops to humble Fears,
No more his gilded Royalty displays,
But, clad in Sack-cloth, most devoutly prays.
Low on the Ground he, prostrate, made his Bed,
Conven'd his Council, and, with haste, decreed,
“That all his People instantly shou'd bend
“Before th' Almighty, and their Lives amend,

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“No more, in Ways of Error, loosely rove,
“But Converts to the Rules of Virtue prove;
“Instead of Mirth, with a sincere Design,
“Make publick Vows t'attone the Wrath divine;
“For many Days, nor Man, nor Beast, shou'd taste
“Their common Fare, but keep a solemn Fast;
“The costly Robes to Rags of Sack-cloth turn,
“And know no Pleasure, but repent and mourn;
“That Heav'n, perhaps, might shew a gentle Face,
“And Justice yield to Mercy's milder Grace.

Now Nineveh another Scene appears,
Where Laughter reign'd, behold a flood of Tears!
Afflicted all, with penal Sack-cloth clad,
In Ashes, prostrate on the Ground, were laid.
The stubborn Minds, that never bow'd before,
With earnest Vows th' Almighty's Grace implore.

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They change their Thoughts, their crooked Ways amend,
And humbly strive to make their Judge their Friend;
Push the last Effort, to revoke their Doom,
And stop the Judgments, now foretold, to come.

The News of Danger, haughty Sinners shake,
And, at the Sight of Death, the stubborn Atheists quake.

Mean while the Prophet leaves the humbl'd Town,
And waits that God shou'd pour his Vengeance down.
Alone he wanders, musing, in the Fields,
And, on a Hill, a simple Lodging builds.
Impatient, oft he turns his gazing Eyes
To Nineveh, the hideous Scene of Vice.
Sometimes he looks for Ruin from the Winds;
Sometimes from Angels, (those celestial Minds,
That round the Throne of the Eternal wait,
To bear Salvation, or vindictive Fate.)

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But vain his anxious Hopes! to see the Doom,
That he had threat'ned very soon wou'd come;
For now the Cries of Nineveh for Peace,
Prevail with Heav'n, and gain Jehovah's Grace.
Mercy, scarce govern'd by eternal Laws,
Exerts its Force, and triumphs in their Cause.
So sweet its Air, so melting are its Charms,
It oft with ease Omnipotence disarms,
Changes his Thoughts, his angry Brow unbends,
And, of a Foe, can make the best of Friends.

The Prophet, as affronted, inly mourn'd,
His Eyes with Fire, his Breast with Fury burn'd.
Honour, a Bubble which he vainly sought,
He fear'd wou'd break, and he be set at nought.

What art thou, Fame, by Mortals thus desir'd?
With hopes of Thee, all human Minds are fir'd.

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Tho' few can be so miserably blind,
As not to see Thee made of empty Wind.
Like an enchanted Palace in the Air,
Thou mock'st our Grasp, and frustrat'st all our Care.
In vain we strive, whilst Envy has her Stings,
To hold Thee fast, and soar upon thy Wings.
Yet were we of thy chiefest Joys possest,
What further Pleasure cou'd inspire our Breast?
What Benefit wou'd from the Bubble grow,
When in the Urn, unconscious, laid below?

The Prophet's Mind, now discompos'd by Care,
Was thus to Heav'n express'd in hasty Pray'r.

“Had I not reason from thy Face to fly,
“And chuse, than be affronted thus, to die?
“Did I not know thou woud'st too soon repent,
“And I shou'd be a lying Prophet, sent?

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“I knew my Errand would at length prove vain,
“And, I return with dire Disgrace again.
“Mercy with Thee's an Attribute belov'd,
“By which ev'n Fate unchangeable is mov'd.
“Now since, as formerly I fear'd, my Fame
“Is, by this Mercy, dash'd with endless Shame,
“What profits Life? O let me rather die,
“Than live on Earth, and suffer Infamy.
“Take from me, take this hated Life away:
“Death is the Debt that I'm prepar'd to pay.

Th' Almighty heard, and thus with Voice of Peace
To Jonah spake, and reason'd on his Case.

“'Tis true, my Prophet, Nineveh has sinn'd,
“And Judgments, as thou threatned'st, were design'd.
“But, at thy Warning, all the People turn'd,
“And, low in Sack-cloth, their Condition mourn'd;

153

“The Conduct of my Providence ador'd,
“And Mercy, with their earnest Vows, implor'd.
“Do'st thou then well to chide my sov'reign Grace,
“And grudge the Good of a repenting Place?
“Do'st thou in Mischief take a dear Delight?
“Have I done Wrong, and art thou in the Right?
“Can Anger help thee? better 'tis to fear,
“And learn my Dispensations to revere.

This spoke, to sooth the gloomy Prophet's mind,
And prove a Shelter from the Sun and Wind,
He gave command, and sudden, round his Head,
A verdant Gourd her shadowing Honours spread.
The Prophet, pleas'd, improv'd the Sent Relief,
Nor, whilst it lasted, more express'd his Grief.
Secure beneath the fragrant Fruit he sate,
To see the Tow'rs of Ninus bow to Fate.

154

But at th' approach of next returning Day,
The Plant that sudden sprung, as sudden dy'd away.

Now eastern Winds with blust'ring Fury rise,
Vex all the Air, and agitate the Skies,
The scorching Sun-beams play on Jonah's Head,
Exhaust his Blood, and lay him almost dead.
Fainting, he stretch'd his Body on the Ground,
And spoke his Sorrows in a broken Sound.
Weary of Life, he wish'd it had an end,
And begg'd that God would Death immediate send.

Again th' Almighty—does my Servant well,
“With Rage, for losing of the Gourd, to swell?

The hasty Prophet, thoughtless, made reply;
“Thou know'st I'm angry, and I wish to die.
“Have I not cause, when Life a burden grows,
“To wish for Death, to finish all my Woes?

155

“Who cou'd such Treatment patiently endure,
“And not desire that most effectual Cure?
“When Honour's lost, 'tis a Relief to die:
“For Death's a sure retreat from wounding Infamy.

Once more to Jonah great Jehovah spake;
“Do'st thou, my Servant, such compassion take
“Upon a Gourd, whose Seed thou did'st not sow,
“Nor wert at costly Pains to make it grow?
“Do'st thou, thus fondly, place thy dear delight
“In what sprung up, and perish'd in a Night?
“For a frail Plant cou'd'st thou express such Care,
“And shou'd not I a pop'lous City spare?
“Can'st thou for such a Trifle mourn, and yet
“Obdurate look upon a sinking State?
“Is Mercy strange? Have I not often sworn,
“To save the Sinners, that repent and turn?

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“To humour thee, and prop thy tott'ring fame,
“Shall I my wonted Love, and Grace, disclaim;
“Upon an humbled People pour my Wrath,
“And, while they cry for Pardon, stop their Breath?

“Rash Man! thy wicked Murmuring forbear,
“And think how good, how glorious, 'tis to spare.
“Consider Nineveh's prodigious round,
“In which a World of Innocents is found.
“If harmless Flocks thy Pity cannot move,
“(Tho' ev'n for them I feel my pleading Love.)
“Can'st thou no Bowels of Compassion find,
“For tender Babes, that never proudly sinn'd?
“Cou'd'st thou see, blended in one common Fate,
“The Young, the old, the Lowly, and the Great?
“Behold their Looks, and hear their moving Cries,
“With unrelenting Heart, and with unmoist'ned eyes?

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“No—I shall ne'er the City sacrifice,
“So chang'd of late, to humour thy Caprice.

Then Jonah, struck with sacred Awe, adores
Jehovah's conduct, and his Grace implores;
No longer for the City's Safety mourns,
But, into triumph, all his Sorrow turns.

Be rouz'd, ye Sinners, and reform betimes,
Ere threat'ned Judgments seize you for your Crimes.
While Mercy courts you with engaging Charms,
Without delay embrace the offer'd Terms.
Ere long (perhaps, while ye are slumb'ring) Death,
In dreadful Pomp, may lead the Way to Wrath.
All Help, and Hope, for ever disappear,
When Justice comes, your trembling Souls to tear.

O! may the guilty Nations soon repent,
Before the Shafts of heav'nly Rage are sent.

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Already Justice mounts an awful Throne,
Prepar'd to hurl the Bolts of Vengeance down.
Thro' ev'ry Land are heard the dire Alarms:
The Hosts of Heav'n seem all to be in Arms.
Mercy and Grace arrest the Thunder now,
But cannot long divert the threat'ned Blow.

Thou, Watts, whose Pray'r can threat'ned Woe suspend,
Live long an intercessor, as a Friend.
Shou'dst thou, offended at our Crimes, retire,
To thy own Seat, in the celestial Quire;
Unless, Elijah like, thou leav'st behind
The pow'rful Graces of thy God-like Mind;
Soon wou'd our Sins draw Vengeance from the Sky,
And Britain's boasted State in Ruin lie.