Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
Ye sons of pride, that hate the just|
And trample on the poor,
When death has brought you down to dust,
Your pomp shall rise no more.
2. The last great day shall change the scene;
3. God will my naked soul receive,|
When sep'rate from the flesh;
And break the prison of the grave,
To raise my bones afresh.
4. Heav'n is my everlasting home,
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