Let none be faint in heart, though they be slow:
For, he that creepes, untill his Race be done,
Shall gaine a Wreath, aswell as they that runne.
This being so; let no man walke in doubt,
As if Gods Arme of Grace were stretched out
To some small number: For, whoe're begins
And perseueres, the profer'd Garland winns:
And, God respects no persons; neither layes
A stumbling blocke in any of our Waies.
This being so, let no man think't enough