Anon.

C.M.

OH, speed thee, Christian, on thy way,

And to thy armor cling:

With girded loins the call obey,

That grace and mercy bring.

2

There is a battle to be fought,

An upward race to run,

A crown of glory to be sought,

A victory to be won.

3

The shield of faith repels the dart

That Satan’s hand may throw;

His arrow cannot reach thy heart,

If Christ control the bow.

4

Oh faint not, Christian, for thy sighs

Are heard before His throne;

The race must come before the prize,

The cross before the crown.