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.
From Thee, the overflowing spring,
Our souls shall drink a fresh supply,
While such as trust in human strength
Shall melt away, and droop, and die.
Swift as an eagle cuts the air,
We’ll mount aloft to Thine abode;
On wings of love our souls shall fly,
Nor tire amidst the heavenly road.
|First Line:||Awake, our souls, away, our fears|
|Title:||Press Onward to the Mark|