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.