Hope beyond the Grave. John 14. 2; 1 Peter 1. 3-5
J. Newton C.M.
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 heavenly home?
“The Saviour, 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 Saviour, help us now to seek,
And grant thy Spirit’s power;
That we may all this language speak,
Before the dying hour.