Great God, I own thy sentence just
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 great Redeemer ever lives,My God, my Saviour, comes.
3
The mighty conqueror shall appear,High on a royal seat;And death, the last of all our foes,Lie vanquished at his feet.
4
Then shall I see thy lovely faceWith strong, immortal eyes,And feast upon thy wondrous graceWith pleasure and surprise.