Man 
Sweetest Saviour, if my soul   
Were but worth the having,   
Quickly should I then control
Any thought of waving.   
But when all my care and pains
Cannot give the name of gains   
To Thy wretch so full of stains,   
What delight or hope remains?   
  
Saviour
What, child, is the balance thine,   
Thine the poise and measure?  
If I say, 'Thou shalt be Mine,'   
Finger not My treasure.   
What the gains in having thee   
Do amount to, only He   
Who for man was sold can see;  
That transferr'd th' accounts to Me.   
  
Man
But as I can see no merit   
Leading to this favour,   
So the way to fit me for it   
Is beyond my savour. 
As the reason, then, is Thine,   
So the way is none of mine;   
I disclaim the whole design;   
Sin disclaims and I resign.   
  
Saviour 
That is all: if that I could   
Get without repining;   
And My clay, My creature, would   
Follow My resigning;   
That as I did freely part   
With My glory and desert,
Left all joys to feel all smart——   
  
Man 
Ah, no more! Thou break'st my heart!