There Is A House Not Made With Hands,
Eternal And On High;
And Here My Spirit Waiting Stands,
Till God Shall Bid It Fly.
Shortly This Prison Of My Clay
Must Be Dissolved And Fall;
Then, O My Soul! With Joy Obey
Thy Heavenly Fatherās Call.
āTis He, By His Almighty Grace,
That Forms Thee Fit For Heavān;
And, As An Earnest Of The Place,
Has His Own Spirit Given.
We Walk By Faith Of Joys To Come,
Faith Lives Upon His Word;
But While The Body Is Our Home,
Weāre Absent From The Lord.
āTis Pleasant To Believe Thy Grace,
But We Had Rather See;
We Would Be Absent From The Flesh
And Present, Lord, With Thee.