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