 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
This Mortal Shall put on Immortality
The mortal body quickly dies,
Struck by disease and pain;
In vain we gaze, our longing eyes
Behold it not again.
Struck by disease and pain;
In vain we gaze, our longing eyes
Behold it not again.
'Tis but a tent, a house of clay,
Where for a time we dwell;
For years, or for a single day
No one of us can tell.
Where for a time we dwell;
For years, or for a single day
No one of us can tell.
349
Mysterious union of the soul,
Of spirit with the clod;
One being, Man, a perfect whole
The image of his God!
Of spirit with the clod;
One being, Man, a perfect whole
The image of his God!
O keep that image pure and bright
Of body and of mind,
And keep the glory still in sight,
For which it was designed.
Of body and of mind,
And keep the glory still in sight,
For which it was designed.
Since not for suffering, or disease,
God formed us of the dust;
But that we might our Maker please,
And place in Him our trust.
God formed us of the dust;
But that we might our Maker please,
And place in Him our trust.
Who through his Son the promise gave,
That man shall never die;
But triumph o'er the opening grave
In immortality!
That man shall never die;
But triumph o'er the opening grave
In immortality!
Poem No. 656; c. 24 May 1862
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