Not all the outward forms on earth,
Nor rites that God hath given,
Not will of man, nor blood, nor birth,
Can raise a soul to heaven
The sovereign will of God alone,
Creates us heirs of grace;
Born in the image of His Son,
A new peculiar race.
The quicken'd souls awake and rise
From the long sleep of death;
On heavenly things they fix their eyes
And praises implores the breath
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