And let this fee­ble bo­dy fail,
And let it droop and die;
My soul shall quit the mourn­ful vale,
And soar to worlds on high;
Shall join the dis­em­bo­died saints,
And find its long sought rest,
That on­ly bliss for which it pants,
In my Re­deem­er’s breast.

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 out my three­score years,
Till my de­liv­er­er come,
And wipe away His ser­vant’s tears,
And take His ex­ile home.

O what hath Je­sus bought for me!
Before my rav­ished eyes
Rivers of life div­ine I see,
And trees of pa­ra­dise:
I see a world of spir­its bright,
Who taste the plea­sures there;
They all are robed in spot­less white,
And con­quer­ing palms they bear.

O what are all my suf­fer­ings here,
If, Lord, Thou count me meet
With that en­rap­tured host to 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.