1 Awake, my soul, stretch ev'ry nerve,
and press with vigor on;
a heav'nly race demands your zeal,
and an immortal crown,
and an immortal crown.
2 A cloud of witnesses around
hold you in full survey;
forget the steps already trod,
and onward urge your way,
and onward urge your way.
3 'Tis God's all-animating voice
that calls you from on high;
'tis his own hand presents the prize
to your aspiring eye,
to your aspiring eye.
4 That prize with peerless glories bright,
which shall new lustre boast,
when victors' wreaths and monarchs' gems
shall blend in common dust,
shall blend in common dust.
5 Blest Savior, introduced by you,
have I my race begun;
and, crowned with vict'ry, at your feet
I'll lay my honors down,
I'll lay my honors down.
