Arise, my gracious God,
And make the wicked flee;
They are but Thy chastising rod,
To drive Thy saints to Thee.

Behold, the sinner dies,
His haughty words are vain;
Here in this life his pleasure lies,
And all beyond is pain.

Then let his pride advance,
And boast of all his store;
The Lord is my inheritance,
My soul can wish no more.

I shall behold the face
Of my forgiving God;
And stand complete in righteousness,
Washed in my Savior’s blood.

There is a new heav’n begun,
When I awake from death,
Dressed in the likeness of Thy Son,
And draw immortal breath.

Lord, I am Thine; but Thou wilt prove
My faith, my patience, and my love:
When men of spite against me join,
They are the sword, the hand is Thine.

Their hope and portion lies below:
’Tis all the happiness they know,
’Tis all they seek; they take their shares,
And leave the rest among their heirs.

What sinners value I resign;
Lord, ’tis enough that Thou art mine:
I shall behold Thy blissful face,
And stand complete in righteousness.

This life’s a dream, an empty show;
But the bright world to which I go
Hath joys substantial and sincere:
When shall I wake and find me there?

O glorious hour! O bless’d abode!
I shall be near and like my God!
And flesh and sin no more control
The sacred pleasures of the soul.

My flesh shall slumber in the ground
Till the last trumpet’s joyful sound;
Then burst the chains in sweet surprise,
And in my Savior’s image rise.