Not all the outward forms on earth Nor rites that God has giv'n Nor will of man, nor blood, nor birth Can raise a soul to heav'n The sov'reign will of God alone Prepares the heirs of grace Born in the image of his Son A new, peculiar race The Spirit, like some heav'nly wind Blows on the sons of flesh Renews the spirit of the mind And forms the man afresh Our quickened souls awake and rise From the long sleep of death On heav'nly things we fix our eyes And praise employs our breath
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