1 And let this feeble body fail,
And let it faint or die;
My soul shall quit this mournful vale,
And soar to worlds on high:
Shall join the disembodies saints,
And find its long sought rest,
That only bliss for which it pants,
In the Redeemer's breas

2 In hope of that immortal crown
I now the cross sustain,
And gladly wander up and down,
And smile at toil and pain;
I suffer on my threescore years,
Till my Deliv'rer come,
And wipe away his servant's tears,
And take his exile home.

3 O what are all my suff'rings here,
If, Lord, thou count me meet
With that enraptured host t' appear,
And worship at thy feet!
Give joy or grief, give ease or pain,
Take life or friends away,
But let me find them all again
In that eternal day.