How mean­ly dwells th’im­mor­tal mind!
How vile these bo­dies are!
Why was a clod of earth de­signed
T’enclose a heav­en­ly star?

Weak cot­tage, where our souls re­side!
This flesh a tot­ter­ing wall;
With fright­ful breach­es, gap­ing wide,
The build­ing bends to fall.

All round it storms of trou­ble blow,
And waves of sor­row roll;
Cold waves and win­ter storms beat through,
And pain the ten­ant-soul.

Alas! how frail our state! said I:
And thus went mourn­ing on,
Till, sud­den from the clear­ing sky,
A gleam of glo­ry shone.

My soul all felt the glo­ry come,
And breathed her na­tive air;
Then she re­mem­bered Hea­ven her home,
And she a pri­son­er here.

Straight she be­gan to change her key,
And joy­ful in her pains,
She sung the frail­ty of her clay
In plea­sur­able strains.

“How weak the pri­son where I dwell!
Flesh, but a tot­ter­ing wall,
The breach­es cheer­ful­ly fore­tell,
The house must short­ly fall.

“No more, my friends, shall I com­plain,
Though all my heart-strings ache;
Welcome, dis­ease, and eve­ry pain,
That makes the cot­tage shake.

“Now let the tem­pest blow all round,
Now swell the surg­es high,
And beat this house of bond­age down,
To let the stran­ger fly.

“I have a man­sion built above,
By the eter­nal hand;
And should the earth’s old ba­sis move,
My heav’n­ly house must stand.

Yes, for ’tis there my Sav­ior reigns,
(I long to see the God)
And His im­mor­tal strength sus­tains
The courts that cost Him blood.

Hark, from on high my Sav­ior calls;
I come, my Lord, my love.
Devotion breaks the pri­son walls,
And speeds my last re­move.