Triumph over death.

AND must this body die? This mortal frame decay? And must these active limbs of mine, Lie mould'ring in the clay?

Corruption, earth and worms, Shall but refine this flesh; Till my triumphant spirit comes, To put it on afresh.

God my Redeemer lives, And often from the skies Looks down and watches all my dust, Till he shall bid it rise.

These lively hopes we owe, To Jesus' dying love; We would adore his grace below, And sing his pow'r above.