I.

AWAKE, my soul, stretch every nerve,

And press with vigor on!

A heavenly race demands thy zeal,

And an immortal crown.

2.

A cloud of witnesses around
Hold thee in full survey:

Forget the steps already trod,
And onward urge thy way!

3.

'Tis God's all-animating voice

That calls thee from on high;

"Tis his own hand presents the prize

To thine aspiring eye,

4.

That prize, with peerless glories bright,

Which shall new lustre boast

When victors' wreaths and monarchs' gems

Shall blend in common dust.

PHILIP DODDRIDGE, 1702-1751.

RESS on! press on! ye sons of light, Press on! press on! through toil and woe,

PRESS

Untiring in your holy fight,

Still treading each temptation down,
And battling for a brighter crown.

3.

Calmly resolved to triumph go,

And make each dark and threatening ill
Yield but a higher glory still.

Press on press on! still look in faith
To him who vanquished sin and death,
And, till you hear his high "Well done,"
True to the last, press on! press on!

WILLIAM GASKELL, 1805-1884.

AMSTERDAM. 7. 6. 7. 6. 7. 7. 7. 6.

GERMAN CHORAL.

A-MEN.

d

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