Verse 1
Did holy Paul himself require
A balance of depressing pain,
Lest nature should in him aspire,
Lest, of celestial favours vain,
The saint should share his Saviour’s praise,
And forfeit all his boasted grace?

Verse 2
A sinless saint he was not yet;
Or sinless saints may start aside,
Their pard’ning, hallowing Lord forget,
Puff’d up with self-exalting pride;
Or tempted still in weakness mourn,
And groan to feel the humbling thorn.

Verse 3
Be not high-minded then, but fear,
Who sudden saints, and pillars seem,
Fill up your mournful measure here,
Less than the least yourselves esteem,
And thus your sure election prove,
And thus declare your perfect love.