1 And must this Body die?
This mortal Frame decay?
And must these active Limbs of mine
Lie mould'ring 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 ev'ry Shape, and ev'ry Face,
Look heav'nly and divine.

5 These lively Hopes we owe
To Jesus' dying Love;
We would adore his Grace below,
And sing his 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.