If
I should be speaking in the languages of men and of the messengers, yet should
have no love, I have become resounding copper or a clanging cymbal. And if I
should have prophecy and should be perceiving all secrets and all knowledge,
and if I should have all faith, so as to transport mountains, yet have no love,
I am nothing. And if ever I should be morselling out
all my possessions, and if I should be giving up my body, that I should be
boasting, yet may have no love, in nothing do I benefit.
Love
is patient, is kind. Love is not jealous. Love is not bragging, is not puffed
up, is not indecent, is not self-seeking, is not incensed, is not taking
account of evil, is not rejoicing in injustice, yet is rejoicing together with
the truth, is forgoing all, is believing all, is expecting all, is enduring
all. Love is never lapsing: yet, whether prophecies, they will be discarded, or
languages, they will cease, or knowledge, it will be discarded.
For
out of an instalment are we knowing, and out of an instalment are we
prophesying. Now whenever maturity may be coming, that which is out of an
instalment shall be discarded. When I was a minor, I spoke as a minor, I was
disposed as a minor, I took account of things as a minor. Yet when I have
become a man, I have discarded that which is a minor's.
For
at present we are observing by means of a mirror, in an enigma, yet then, face
to face. At present I know out of an instalment, yet then I shall recognize
according as I am recognized also.
Yet
now are remaining faith, expectation, love -- these three. Yet the greatest of
these is love.