Awake, My Soul, Stretch Every Nerve

Awake

my soul

stretch ev­ery nerve

And press with vi­gor on;

A heav’n­ly race de­mands thy zeal

And an im­mor­tal crown.

A cloud of wit­ness­es around

Hold thee in full sur­vey;

Forget the steps al­rea­dy trod

And on­ward urge thy way.

’Tis God’s all ani­mat­ing voice

That calls thee from on high;

’Tis His own hand pre­sents the prize

To thine as­pir­ing eye.

That prize

with peer­less glo­ries bright

Which shall new lus­ter boast

When vic­tors’ wreaths and mon­archs’ gems

Shall blend in com­mon dust.

Blest Sav­ior

in­tro­duced by Thee

Have I my race be­gun;

And

crowned with vic­to­ry at Thy feet

I’ll lay my hon­ors down.