1 And must this Body die?
This well wrought Frame decay?
And must these active Limbs of mine
Lie moul'dring in the Clay?

2 Corruption, Earth and Worms,
Shall but refine this Flesh,
Till my triumphant Spirit comes
To put it on afresh.

3 God my Redeemer lives,
And often from the Skies
Looks down, and watches all my Dust,
Till he shall bid it rise.

4 Array'd in glorious Grace
Shall these vile Bodies shine,
And every Shape and every Face,
Look heav'nly and divine.

5 These lively Hopes we owe
Lord, to thy dying Love;
We would adore thy Grace below,
And sing thy Pow'r above.

6 Dear Lord, accept the Praise
Of these our humble Songs,
Till Tunes of nobler Sound we raise
With our immortal Tongues.