And must this body die
1
And must this body die?This well-wrought frame decay?And must these active limbs of mineLie moldering in the clay?
2
Christ, my Redeemer, lives,And ever from the skiesLooks down, and watches all my dustTill he shall bid it rise.
3
Arrayed in glorious graceShall these vile bodies shine,And every form and every faceLook heavenly and divine?
4
O Lord, accept the praiseOf these our humble songs,Till tunes of nobler sound we raiseWith our immortal tongues.