P. Doddridge

8.5.8.5.

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.