Let Pharisees of high esteem

Their faith and zeal declare,

All their religion is a dream,

If love be wanting there.

Love suffers long with patient eye,

Nor is provoked in haste;

She lets the present injury die,

And long forgets the past.

[Malice and rage, those fires of hell,

She quenches with her tongue;

Hopes and believes, and thinks no ill,

Though she endure the wrong.]

[She nor desires nor seeks to know

The scandals of the time;

Nor looks with pride on those below,

Nor envies those that climb.]

She lays her own advantage by

To seek her neighbor's good;

So God's own Son came down to die,

And bought our lives with blood.

Love is the grace that keeps her power

In all the realms above;

There faith and hope are known no more,

But saints for ever love.