Awake, My Soul!

1Awake, my soul! stretch every nerve,
And press with vigor on;
A heavenly race demands thy zeal,
And an immortal crown.

2'Tis God's allanimating voice That calls thee from on high; 'Tis He whose hand presents the prize To thine aspiring eye.

3A cloud of witnesses around Hold thee in full survey;
Forget the steps already trod,
And onward urge thy way.

4Blest Saviour, introduced by Thee,
Our race have we begun;
And, crowned with victory, at Thy feet We'll lay our trophies down.