Behold, I'm all defiled with sin,
Yet, lo! all glorious am within.
In Egypt and in Goshen dwell;
Still moveless, and in motion still.

Unto the name that most I dread,
I flee with joyful wings and speed.
My daily hope does most depend
On him I daily most offend.

All things against me are combin'd,
Yet working for my good, I find.
I'm rich in midst of poverties;
And happy in my miseries.

Oft my comforter sends me grief;
My helper sends me no relief.
Yet herein my advantage lies,
That help and comfort he denies.

As seamsters into pieces cut
The cloth they into form would put;
He cuts me down to make me up,
And empties me to fill my cup.

I never can myself enjoy,
Till he my woful self destroy:
And most of all myself I am,
When most I do myself disclaim.

I glory in infirmities,
Yet daily I'm asham'd of these;
Yea, all my pride gives up the ghost,
When once I but begin to boast.

My chemistry is most exact,
Heav'n out of hell I do extract;
This art to me a tribute brings
Of useful out of hurtful things.

I learn to draw well out of woe,
And thus to disappoint the foe:
The thorns that in my flesh abide,
Do prick the tympany of pride.

By wounding foils the field I win,
And sin itself destroys my sin:
My lusts break one-another's pate,
And each corruption kills its mate.

I smell the bait, I feel the harm
Of corrupt ways, and take th' alarm.
I taste the bitterness of sin
And then to relish grace begin.

I hear the fools profanely talk,
Thence wisdom learn in word and walk:
I see them through the passage broad,
And learn to take the narrow road.