1 And must this body die,
This mortal frame decay?
And must these active limbs of mine
Lie mouldering in the clay?

2 God my Redeemer lives,
And often from the skies
Looks down and watches all my dust,
Till He shall bid it rise.

3 Arrayed in glorious grace
Shall these vile bodies shine,
And every shape, and every face,
Look heavenly and divine.

4 These lively hopes we owe
To Jesus' dying love:
We would adore His grace below,
And sing His power above.

5 Dear Lord, accept the praise
Of these our humble songs,
Till tunes of nobler sound we raise
With our immortal tongues.