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 monarch's gems Shall blend in common dust, Shall blend in common dust. 5 Blest Saviour, 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.