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 all-animating voice That calls thee from on high; 'Tis his 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, Have I my race begun; And, crowned with victory, at thy feet I'll lay my trophies down.