John Newton & William Cowper · 217 of 356
75. My soul, this curious house of clay
Hymn 75
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 ’s power; That we may all this language speak, Before the dying hour.