There Is a House Not Made with Hands

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 heav’nly Father’s call

‘Tis He, by His almighty grace

That forms Thee fit for Heav’n

And, as an earnest of the place

Has His own Spirit giv’n

We walk by faith of joys to come

Faith lives upon His Word

But while the body is our home

We’re absent from the Lord

‘Tis pleasant to believe Thy grace

But we had rather see

We would be absent from the flesh

And present, Lord, with Thee

There is a house not made with hands

Eternal and on high

And here my spirit waiting stands

Till God shall bid it fly

Fly