THERE is a house not made with hands,

Shortly my present house of clay Must be dissolved and fall: Then, O my soul! with joy obey The heavenly Father’s call.

’Tis He, by His almighty grace, That makes us fit for Heaven, And, as an earnest of the place, Has His own Spirit given.

We walk by faith in joys to come, Faith lives upon His Word: But while the body is our home, We’re absent from the Lord.

’Tis happy to believe Thy grace, But how we long to see; We would be absent from the flesh, And present, Lord, with Thee.