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 Sav­ior

comes.

The migh­ty Con­quer­or shall ap­pear

High on a roy­al seat

And death

the last of all His foes

Lie van­quished at His feet.

Though greedy worms de­vour my skin

And gnaw my wast­ing flesh

When God shall build my bones again

He clothes them all afresh.

Then shall I see Thy love­ly face

With strong im­mor­tal eyes;

And feast up­on Thy un­known grace

With plea­sure and sur­prise.