Awake, My Soul, Stretch Every Nerve

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.

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.

'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.

That prize with peerless glories bright,
which shall new luster boast,
when victors' wreaths and monarchs' gems
shall blend in common dust,
shall blend in common dust.

Blest Savior, 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.