Awake, our souls! away, our fears!

Let every trembling thought be gone!

Awake, and run the heavenly race,

And put a cheerful courage on.

True, ’tis a strait and thorny road,

And mortal spirits tire and faint;

But they forget the mighty God,

That feeds the strength of every saint.

O mighty God, Thy matchless pow’r

Is ever new, and ever young;

And firm endures, while endless years

Their everlasting circles run.

From Thee, the ever flowing spring,

Our souls shall drink a fresh supply;

While such as trust their native strength

Shall melt away, and droop, and die.

Swift as the eagle cuts the air,

We’ll mount aloft to Thine abode;

On wings of love our souls shall fly,

Nor tire along the heavenly road.