I. RISE, my soul, and stretch thy wings, Thy better portion trace, Rise from transitory things Towards heaven, thy native place! Sun and moon and stars decay, Time shall soon this earth remove : Rise, my soul, and haste away To seats prepared above! 2. Rivers to the ocean run, Nor stay in all their course; Fire, ascending, seeks the sun; Both speed them to their source: So my soul, derived from God, Pants to view his glorious face, Forward tends to his abode To rest in his embrace. ROBERT SEAGRAVE, 1693 I. AWAKE, our souls! away, our fears! Let every trembling thought be gone! Awake, and run the heavenly race, And put a cheerful courage on! 2. True, 't is a strait and thorny road, And mortal spirits tire and faint; But they forget the mighty God That feeds the strength of every saint, 3. The mighty God, whose matchless power And firm endures while endless years Their everlasting circles run. 4. From thee, the overflowing spring, Our souls shall drink a fresh supply, While such as trust their native strength Shall melt away, and drop, and die. 5. 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. ISAAC WATTS, 1674-1748. |