Classic Poem

My soul doth pant towards thee
My God, source of eternal life:
Flesh fights with me,
O! end the strife
And part us, that in peace I may
Unclay

My wearied spirit, and take
My flight to thy eternal spring;
Where for his sake
Who is my king,
I may wash all my tears away
That day.

Thou conqueror of death,
Glorious triumpher o'er the grave,
Whose holy breath
Was spent to save
Lost mankind; make me to be styled
Thy child,

And take me when I die
And go unto my dust, my soul
Above the sky
With saints enroll,
That in thine arms for ever I