O'er fourteen years ago, snatched to Paradise, there...
Such words...! Lest you think too much of me, I forbear!
Lest I be too proud, a thorn in the flesh was bred,
Satan's agent; thrice I prayed 'gainst, but the Lord said:
"My grace suffices; My strength's perfected in weakness".
Thus I'll glory if weak - when in Christ I'm strongest!
You've made me boast, a fool, nothing, though not behind
The best apostles - with every wonder and sign!
I'll come a third time - no burden, spent to possess you -
But the more I love you, must I be loved less too?
Neither I, Titus, nor aide, have been burdensome,
But I'm afraid I'll find strife and vice when I come!
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