My soul, this curious house of clay,

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 grace's power;
That we may all this language speak,
Before the dying hour.