Not all the outward forms on earth,
Nor rites that God has giv’n,
Nor will of man, nor blood, nor birth,
Can raise a soul to Heav’n.
The sovereign will of God alone
Creates us heirs of grace;
Born in the image of His Son,
A new, peculiar race.
The Spirit, like some heav’nly wind,
Blows on the sons of flesh,
New-models all the carnal mind,
And forms the man afresh.
Our quickened souls awake and rise
From the long sleep of death;
On heav’nly things we fix our eyes,
And praise employs our breath.