1 And must this body die?
This well-wrought 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 thy triumphant spirit comes
To put it on afresh.

3 God, my Redeemer lives,
And ever 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.
Lord to thy dying love;
O may we bless thy grace below,
And sing thy grace above.

6 Saviour, accept the praise
Of these our humble songs,
'Till tunes of nobler sound we raise,
With our immortal tongues.