1 Oft have I turn'd my eye within,
And brought to light some latent sin,
But pride, the vice I most detest,
Still lurks securely in my breast.

2 Here with a thousand arts she tries
To dress me in a fair disguise,
To make a guilty wretched worm
Put on an angel's brightest form.

3 She hides my follies from my eyes,
And lifts my virtues to the skies;
And while the specious tale she tells,
Her own deformity conceals.

4 Rend, O my God, the veil away,
Bring forth the monster to the day;
Expose her hideous form to view,
And all her restless power subdue.

5 So shall humility divine
Again possess this heart of mine;
And form a temple for my God,
Which he will make his lov'd abode.