Anon.
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.