A-wake, my soul, stretch every nerve,
And press with vi-gor on;
A heav'n-ly race de-mands thy zeal,
And an im-mor-tal crown,
And an im-mor-tal crown.
A cloud of wit-nes-ses around
Hold thee in full sur-vey;
For-get the steps al-read-y trod,
And on-ward urge thy way,
And on-ward urge thy way.
'Tis God's all an-imat-ing voice
That calls thee from on high;
'Tis His own hand pre-sents the prize
To thine a-spir-ing eye.
To thine a-spir-ing eye.
Then wake, my soul, stretch every nerve,
And press with vi-gor on,
A heav'n-ly race de-mands thy zeal,
And an im-mor-tal crown.
And an im-mor-tal crown.
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