My Soul Come View The Clay

My soul come view the clay,
Of which thy body’s made,
Which ev’ry month and ev’ry day,
Is hast’ning to the dead.

For by our parents’ sin,
Death did on all ensue;
And so my flesh it comes on thee,
For thou art mortal too.

Ah, must this body die?
Must I this soul resign?
And lay this body in the grave,
With all these limbs of mine.

Lord, grant me one request:
O fill me with thy love,
That when I drop this dying flesh,
My soul may rise above.

To thy divine abode,
Where saints and angels meet,
And join with them to praise thy name,
At my Redeemer’s feet.

Lord grant me ev’ry hour
Some visits from above,
And grant me grace for to prepare
For realms of light and love.

Then as my days roll on,
The end will be in sight,
And when the sun his race hath run,
‘Twill bring a pleasant night.

Then shall my soul rejoice
In my expiring day,
When God will send an angel band
To bare my soul away.

Then shall I praise thy name,
With the celestial choir;
Nor shall one sin disturb my frame,
My tongues shall never tire.

Come, lowly souls that mourn,
Come wipe away your tears”:
Behold, the clay comes hast’ning on,
That shall dissolve your fears.

Then shall your souls take flight,
And soar aloft and sing,
And join the saints in worlds of light,
To praise the Lamb your King.

There you shall bow to your best friend,
Before the golden throne:
Your joyful life will never end,
Your songs will never done.