“Our earthen vessels break;
The world itself grows old;
But Christ our precious dust will take
And freshly mold:
He’ll give these bodies vile
A fashion like His own;
He’ll bid the whole creation smile,
And hush its groan.
To Him our weakness clings
Through tribulation sore,
And seeks the covert of His wings
Till all be o’er.
And when we’ve run the race.
And fought the faithful fight,
We then shall see Him face to face,
With saints in light.”