Religion & morality > Poem on the creation of the world, or, A meditation on the wonderful operation of the divine hand

( i8 )
Nought for Man’s Ufe from Death he doth
exeem.
On Earth, in Air, or in the Deeps that fwim.
As for the great and monftrdus Kind of Whales,
Like living Iflands in the Ocean fails,
The One and fortieth Chapter of that Book '
That’s called Job, unto it if we look,
The following Lines that’s written, I fuppofe,
Will correfpond with what is there in Profe.
Neither his Parts, nor yet his Power,
Conceal them not 1 jwill,
But his Proportion comely, I
Will fet out to the full:
A Heart that’s equal to a Stone
For its Firmnefs he has.
Yea even as hard as a Piece of
The Nether Milllone is;
His Garments Face difcover, who
Can do, that he doth wear,
Or with his double Bridle, who
Unto him can draw near!
Difclofe the Doors that’s in his Mouth,
Who dares to be fo ftout!
His Teeth they are moft terrible,
Appearing round about :
His Scales his Pride are, and fliut up
So clofe as with a Sea!;
Between them comes no Air, they are
Together join’d fo well.
So clofe unite they are unto,
And (lick fo fall together,
Tha^bey cannot be fundered,
Not feparate from other;
And
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