O mean may seem this house of clay,
Yet ’twas the Lord’s abode;
Our feet may mourn this thor­ny way,
Yet here Em­ma­nu­el trod.

This flesh­ly robe the Lord did wear,
This watch the Lord did keep,
These bur­dens sore the Lord did bear,
These tears the Lord did weep.

This world the Mas­ter ov­er­came;
This death the Lord did die;
Oh, van­quished world! oh, glo­ri­ous shame!
Oh, hal­lowed ago­ny!

Oh, vale of tears, no long­er sad,
Wherein the Lord did dwell!
Oh, ho­ly robe of flesh that clad
Our own Im­ma­nu­el!

Our ve­ry frail­ty brings us near
Unto the Lord of Heav­en;
To ev­ery grief, to ev­ery tear,
Such glo­ry strange is giv­en.

But not this flesh­ly robe alone
Shall link us, Lord, to Thee;
Not only in the tear and groan
Shall the dear kin­dred be.

We shall be reck­oned for Thine own
Because Thy Heav­en we share,
Because we sing around Thy throne,
And Thy bright rai­ment wear.

Thou who wast cloth­èd in our clay,
And strick­en in our stead,
Wilt put on us Thy bright ar­ray,
Thy joy on us wilt shed.

O migh­ty grace, our life to live,
To make our earth di­vine:
O migh­ty grace, Thy Heav­en to give,
And lift our life to Thine.