Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve,

And press with vigour on;

A heavenly race demands thy zeal,

And an immortal crown,

A cloud of witnesses around

Hold thee in full survey;

Forget the steps already trod,

And onward urge thy way,

’Tis God’s all animating voice

That calls thee from on high;

’Tis His own hand presents the prize

To thine aspiring eye,

Blest saviour introduced by thee

Have I my race begun

And crowned with victory at Thy feet

I’ll lay my honours down