Pride

O THOU TERRIBLE MEEK,

Let not pride swell my heart.
      My nature is the mire beneath my feet,
      the dust to which I shall return.
In body I surpass not the meanest reptile;
Whatever difference of form and intellect is mine
  is a free grant of thy goodness;
Every faculty of mind and body is thy
  undeserved gift.
Low as I am as a creature, I am lower as a sinner;
I have trampled thy law times without number;
Sin’s deformity is stamped upon me,
  darkens my brow, touches me with corruption:
How can I flaunt myself proudly?
Lowest abasement is my due place,
  for I am less than nothing before thee.
Help me to see myself in thy sight,
  then pride must wither, decay, die, perish.
Humble my heart before thee,
  and replenish it with thy choicest gifts.
As water rests not on barren hill summits,
  but flows down to fertilize lowest vales,
So make me the lowest of the lowly,
  that my spiritual riches may exceedingly abound.
When I leave duties undone,
  may condemning thought strip me of pride,
  deepen in me devotion to thy service,
  and quicken me to more watchful care.
When I am tempted to think highly of myself,
  grant me to see the wily power of my spiritual
    enemy;
Help me to stand with wary eye on the watch-tower
    of faith,
  and to cling with determined grasp to my
    humble Lord;
If I fall let me hide myself in my Redeemer’s
    righteousness,
  and when I escape, may I ascribe all deliverance
    to thy grace.
Keep me humble, meek, lowly.

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