Jonah 1

On Thee my captiv'd Soule did call;
Thou, who art present every where,
From the darke Entrailes of the Whale,
Didst thy intombed Servant heare.
Thy Hand into the Surges threw,
The Seas blacke armes forthwith unfold;
Downe to the horrid Bottom drew,
And all her Waves upon me rould.
Then said my Soule; For ever I
Am banisht from thy glorious sight:
And yet thy Temple with the Eye
Of Faith review'd, in that blind Night.
The Flouds my Soule involv'd below;
The swallowing Deeps besieg'd me round:
And Weeds, which in the bottom grow,
My Head with funerall Dresses bound.
I to the roots of Mountaines div'd,
Whom bars of broken Rocks restraine:
Yet from that Tombe of death reviv'd,
And rais'd to see the Sun againe.
I, when my Soule began to faint,
My Vowes and Prayers to thee prefer'd:
The Lord my passionate complaint,
Even from his holy Temple heard.
Those who affect false vanities,
The Mercy of their God betray:
But I my Thankes will sacrifice,
And Vowes to my Redeemer pay.