Great God, I own thy Sentence just

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 Saviour comes.

The mighty Conqu'ror shall appear High on a Royal Seat, And Death, the last of all his Foes, Lie vanquish'd at his Feet.

Though greedy Worms devour my Skin, And gnaw my wasting Flesh, When God shall build my Bones again, He clothes 'em all afresh:

Then shall I see thy lovely Face With strong immortal Eyes, And feast upon thy unknown Grace With Pleasure and Surprize.