Gratitude and Impote

Not all the shining Saints on high Owe so much Gratitude as I; Not all the mourning Saints below A Deot so vast and boundless owe. From me the highest Praise should rise, Oblig'd by such unequall'd Ties. My Breast with warmer Zeal should burn, With deeper tend'rer Sorrows mourn, Than Gabriel that surrounds the Throne, Than any Wretch beneath the Sun. For I of all the Race that fell, Deserve the lowest Place in Hell; And I of all the ransom'd Race, Am most in Debt to Sovereign Grace. Ye Saints, no more yourselves abase, But yield to me the lowest Place: No more my rightful Claim contest To offer Praise above the Rest.

Yet, Oh my GOD! there's not a Saint, That sobs in secret his Complaint, That calls himself the very First Of Sinners, and his Case the worst; There's not a Saint, but (to my Shame) Presents more Glory to Thy Name, But serves Thee with a warmer Zeal, And with more Fervour does Thy Will.

Kind Angels! Will You raise on high His Praise, and my Defects supply! Oh! will You pay, in nobler Song, The Debt of my unskilful Tongue! And you, Dear Saints! Will you below, Help me to pay the Debt I owe!

No doubt the Blessings You receive, Exceed the highest Thanks you give; Yet sure, You can't refuse to join To pay a Debt so vast as mine.

All-gracious GOD! the Thanks receive, From others, which these Lips should give. And Oh! forgive a Worm that mourns, Because he can make no Returns.