Text: | Hope beyond the Grave |
Author: | Newton |
1 My soul, this curious house of clay,
Thy present frail abode,
Must quickly fall to worms a prey,
And thou return to God.
2 Canst thou, by faith, survey with joy,
The change before it come,
And say, “Let Death this house destroy,
I have a heavenly home?
3 “The Saviour, whom I then shall see,
With new admiring eyes,
Already has prepared for me
A mansion in the skies.
4 “I feel this mud-walled cottage shake,
And long to see it fall;
That I my willing flight may take
To him who is my All.
5 “Burdened and groaning then no more,
My rescued soul shall sing,
As up the shining path I soar,
‘Death, thou hast lost thy sting.’”
6 Dear Saviour, help us now to seek,
And grant thy Spirit’s power;
That we may all this language speak,
Before the dying hour.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | My soul, this curious house of clay |
Title: | Hope beyond the Grave |
Author: | Newton |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1844 |
Topic: | Death |