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.
2
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.
3
’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.
4
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.