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.