1 Great God, I own thy sentence just;
And nature must decay,
I yield my body to the dust,
To dwell with fellow clay.

2 Yet faith may triumph o'er the grave,
And trample on the tombs:
My Jesus, my Redeemer lives;
My God, my Saviour comes.

3 The mighty Conq'ror shall appear,
High on a royal seat,
And death, the last of all his foes,
Lie vanquish'd at his feet.

4 Tho' greedy worms devour my skin,
And gnaw my wasting flesh,
When God shall build my bones again
He clothes them all afresh:

5 Then shall I see thy lovely face,
With strong immortal eyes,
And feast upon thy unknown grace,
With pleasure and suprise.