My soul, this curious house of clay,

Thy present frail abode;

Must quickly fall to worms a prey,

And thou return to GOD.

Canst thou, by faith, survey with joy

The change, before it come?

And say, “Let death this house destroy,

I have a heav’nly home!”

The Savior, whom I then shall see

With new admiring eyes,

Already has prepared for me,

A mansion in the skies.

I feel this mud–walled cottage shake,

And long to see it fall;

That I my willing flight may take

To him who is my all.

Burdened and groaning, then no more,

My rescued soul shall sing,

As up the shining path I soar,

“Death, thou hast lost thy sting.”

Dear Savior, help us now to seek,

And know thy grace’s power;

That we may all this language speak,

Before the dying hour.