And Must This Body Die?
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Hymn 219 S.M. 1. And must this body die? This mortal frame decay? And must these active limbs of mine Lie mould'ring in the clay? 2. God, my Redeemer, lives, And frequent from the skies, Looks down and watches all my dust, Till he shall bid it rise. 3. Arrayed in glorious grace Shall these vile bodies shine, And every shape, and every face Look heav'nly and divine. 4. These lively hopes we owe To Jesus' dying love— We would adore his grace below, And sing his pow'r above. 5. Accept, O Lord, the praise Of these our humble songs, Till tunes of nobler sound we raise With our immortal tongues.