Can it incredible appear
That God should raise the dead,
When tokens of His power so clear
Are all around us spread?
Cast in the earth, the seed-corn lies,
Till o’er the fertile field,
God from corruption makes it rise,
Our daily bread to yield.
When harvest brings the ripened grain,
Our eyes with joy behold
That scattered seed, restored again,
Increased a hundredfold.
The leaves in autumn fade and fall,
The trees look dead and dry;
But spring returns, reviving all,
Fresh verdure meets the eye.
The caterpillar eats its fill,
Then, sickening, seems to die;
Concealed, as in its coffin, till
God gives it wings to fly.
So our frail bodies will decay,
And low in dust remain;
But there will surely come a day
When they shall rise again.
A change most glorious that will be,
If we in Christ are found;
Made like the Saviour, we shall see
Him with His saints around.