Great God, I own Thy sen­tence just,
And na­ture must de­cay;
I yield my bo­dy to the dust,
To dwell with fel­low clay.

Yet faith may tri­umph o’er the grave,
And tram­ple on the tombs;
My Je­sus, my Re­deem­er, lives;
My God, my Sav­ior, comes.

The migh­ty Con­quer­or shall ap­pear
High on a roy­al seat,
And death, the last of all His foes,
Lie van­quished at His feet.

Though greedy worms de­vour my skin,
And gnaw my wast­ing flesh,
When God shall build my bones again,
He clothes them all afresh.

Then shall I see Thy love­ly face
With strong im­mor­tal eyes;
And feast up­on Thy un­known grace
With plea­sure and sur­prise.