Verse 1
The work of faith with heaven begun,
With Christ discover’d from above,
By just degrees is carried on,
By patient hope, and labouring love,
Nor ends the moment it begins,
Nor glory in an instant wins.

Verse 2
That work of faith the novice blind
Would fain, on fancy’s horse, leap o’er,
A shorter way to Sion find,
And fight with sin—when sin’s no more,
Labour, when of the prize possest,
And toil, when entred into rest.

Verse 3
That patience of unwearied hope
Fond nature would escape in vain,
To full-grown grace at once spring up,
Perfection in a moment gain,
Evade the fight, yet take the spoil,
The sweets of love, without the toil.

Verse 4
But O thou patient mournful man,
Thy life our better way we see,
And labouring hard thro’ grief and pain,
Thro’ toils and deaths we follow thee,
Fight on, while day by day renew’d,
And strive, resisting unto blood.

Verse 5
We work, till thou pronounce, “Well done!”
Th’ incessant toils of love repeat,
And suffer ’till our final groan,
’Till patience hath its work compleat,
And faith its glorious end receives,
And love alone forever lives.