1 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, ’tis a strait and thorny road,
And mortal spirits tire and faint;
But they forget the mighty God,
Who feeds the strength of every saint.
3 The mighty God, whose matchless power
Is ever new, and ever young,
And firm endures while endless years
Their everlasting circles run.
4 From Thee, the ever-flowing spring,
Our souls shall drink a fresh supply;
While such as trust their native strength
Shall melt away, and droop, 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 amid the heavenly road.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Awake, our souls, away, our fears |
Meter: | L. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1867 |
Topic: | Man a Saint: Steadfast and Abounding in Grace |