Awake, Our Souls, Away, Our Fears;
Let Every Trembling Thought Be Gone;
Awake, And Run The Heavenly Race,
And Put A Cheerful Courage On.

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-

Thee, Mighty God, Whose Matchless Power
Is Ever New And Ever Young,
And Firm Endures, While Endless Years
Their Everlasting Circles Run!

From Thee, The Overflowing Spring,
Our Souls Shall Drink A Fresh Supply,
While Such As Trust Their Native Strength
Shall Faint Away, And Droop, And Die.

Swift As An Eagle Cuts The Air,
We’ll Mount Aloft To Thine Abode:
On Wings Of Love Our Souls Shall Fly,
Nor Tire Along The Heavenly Road.