P. Doddridge

AWAKE, my soul, stretch every nerve,

And press with vigor on!

A heavenly race demands thy zeal,

And an immortal crown,

And an immortal crown.


A cloud of witnesses around

Hold thee in full survey;

Forget the steps already trod,

And onward urge thy way,

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 this aspiring eye,

To this aspiring eye.


Blest Saviour, introduced by Thee,

Have I my race begun;

And, crowned with victory, at Thy feet

I’ll lay my honors down,

I’ll lay my honors down.


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