1 There is a house not made with hands,
Eternal and on high;
And here my spirit waiting stands,
Till God shall bid it fly.
2 Shortly this prison of my clay
Must be dissolv'd and fall;
Then, O my soul, with joy obey
Thy heav'nly Father's call.
3 'Tis he by his Almighty grace,
That forms thee fit for heav'n:
And as an earnest of the place,
Has his own Spirit giv'n.
4 We walk by faith of joys to come;
Faith lives upon his word;
But while the body is our home
We're absent from the Lord.
5 'Tis pleasant to believe thy grace,
But we had rather see;
We would be absent from the flesh,
And present, Lord, with thee.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | There is a house not made with hands |
Title: | Death and immediante glory |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1793 |
Scripture: | ; |