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The history of The Old Testament In verse

With One Hundred and Eighty sculptures: In Two Volumes. Vol. I. From the Creation to the Revolt of the Ten Tribes from the House of David. Vol. II. From that Revolt to the End of the Prophets. Written by Samuel Wesley ... The Cuts done by J. Sturt

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CCXXXIX. Jeremiah, Chap. XXXVIII. from Ver. 6. to Ver. 13.
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574

CCXXXIX. Jeremiah, Chap. XXXVIII. from Ver. 6. to Ver. 13.

Jeremiah cast into the Dungeon; taken out by Ebedmelech. Is brought to the King, &c.

The weeping Prophet by th'Almighty sent,
To Judah's Race with heavy Tidings went,
And warn'd in vain, and cry'd in vain, Repent:
Too late believ'd when Babel's King came down
And press'd on ev'ry side, the sacred Town:
Their Iron Sinew yet refus'd to bend,
In vain they their devoted Walls defend;
Ambitious of their Ruin scorn'd to yield,
But dar'd with Heav'n itself maintain the Field;
In Dungeons deep its faithful Herald thrown,
By whom their Crimes and hast'ning Fate foreshown:
When by the milder King from thence he's brought,
His Life is by the haughty Princes sought:
Afraid he with too much of Ease shou'd die,
Escape their Rage, and cheat their Cruelty.
They drag him to Malchiah's dismal Cave,
A Den profound and dark beyond the Grave.
The Sun enthron'd in his meridian height,
Cou'd ne're dispel or reach its stubborn Night.

576

A thousand noxious Creatures had been there,
Tho' now themselves extinct for want of Air:
Unwholsom Damps from hollow Vaults arise
In pestilential Fogs, and scale the Skies:
Hither the Prophet cast, no bottom found,
A Bog of putrid Mire deny'd the Ground:
Nor Chains, nor Darkness shook so firm a Mind,
Calm as the Bless'd, and all to Heaven resign'd:
Nor by the best of Friends forsaken there,
Who from that dire Abyss regards his Prayer:
By whom inspir'd good Ebed-melech goes,
And not in vain for him did interpose:
The King persuaded of his Innocence,
Grants the Petition, and remands him thence:
Behold him leave the squalid Realms of Night!
Scarce cou'd his Eyes endure returning Light:
From thence he to the Royal Prison goes,
A Palace to the Dungeon whence he rose:
To God's bless'd Court in private him they bring,
Once more in vain to warn the wav'ring King.
He moves, he prays, by all that's dear he sues,
He wou'd no more the proffer'd Grace refuse:
With Heav'ns unchang'd Decrees we strive in vain,
And still the more we strive, the less we gain:

577

O! rather yield, for 'tis not yet too late!
Seize the white Lot, and fix the Hinge of Fate!
Bloodshed prevent! a noble City save!
Oblige your self! oblige the Fair and Brave!
How dire a face of Things must else succeed!
How wide, how vast a Ruin is decreed!
Thy Wife's a Prey to Babel's Lord design'd,
Nor thou thy self a milder Fate shalt find,
—And worse, far worse remains untold behind.
Behold, the City fir'd! behold, on high
Where the bright Temples Flames invade the Skie!
Behold, unhappy Prince!—Thou canst no more:
Those ills I can't prevent, I must deplore.
He stopp'd with such a Weight of Woes oppress'd,
And the remaining God kept struggling in his Breast.