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 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,
Be heav'nly and divine.

5 These lively hopes we owe,
Lord, to thy dying love,
O may we bless thy grace below,
And sing is pow'r above.