O Lord,

Our every sense, member, faculty, affection,
is a snare to me,
We can scarce open my eyes but we envy those
above us,
or despise those below.

We covet honor and riches of the mighty,
and are proud and unmerciful to the rags
of others;
If we behold beauty it is a bait to lust,
or see deformity, it stirs up loathing and disdain;
How soon do slanders, vain jests, and wanton
speeches creep into our hearts!

Are we attractive? What fuel for pride!
Are we deformed? What an occasion for feeling discontent!
Are we gifted? We lust after applause!
Are we unlearned? How we despise what we have not!
Are we in authority? How prone to abuse our trust,
make will my law, exclude others' enjoyments,
serve our own interests and policy!
Are we inferior? How much we grudge others'
Are we rich? How exalted we become!
You know that all these are snares
by our corruptions,
and that our greatest snare is ourselves.

We lament that our apprehensions are dull,
our thoughts mean,
our affections stupid,
our expressions low,
our life unbecoming;
Keep us ever mindful of our natural state,
but let us not forget our heavenly title,
or the grace that can deal with every sin.