Text: | Triumph over death |
1 Great God, I own thy sentence just;
And nature must decay,
I yield my body to the dust,
To dwell with fellow clay.
2 Yet faith may triumph o'er the grave,
And trample on the tombs:
My Jesus, my Redeemer lives;
My God, my Saviour comes.
3 The mighty Conq'ror shall appear,
High on a royal seat,
And death, the last of all his foes,
Lie vanquish'd at his feet.
4 Tho' greedy worms devour my skin,
And gnaw my wasting flesh,
When God shall build my bones again
He clothes them all afresh:
5 Then shall I see thy lovely face,
With strong immortal eyes,
And feast upon thy unknown grace,
With pleasure and suprise.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Great God, I own thy sentence just |
Title: | Triumph over death |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1793 |
Scripture: |