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611 – Awake, My Soul!

1

Awake, my soul! stretch every nerve,

And press with vigor on;

A heavenly race demands thy zeal,

And an immortal crown.

2

‘Tis God’s all animating voice

That calls thee from on high;

‘Tis He whose hand presents the prize

To thine aspiring eye.

3

A cloud of witnesses around

Hold thee in full survey;

Forget the steps already trod,

And onward urge thy way.

4

Blest Savior, introduced by Thee,

Our race have we begun;

And, crowned with victory, at Thy feet

We’ll lay our trophies down.