1 Rise, my Soul, and stretch thy Wings,
Thy better Portion Trace;
Rise from Transitory Things,
Tow'rds Heav'n, thy native Place;
Sun, and Moon, and Stars decay,
Time shall soon this Earth remove;
Rise, my Soul, and haste away
To Seats prepar'd above.
2 Rivers to the Ocean run,
Nor stay in all their Course;
Fire ascending seeks the Sun,
Both speed them to their Source;
To a Soul that's born of GOD,
Pants to view his glorious Face;
Upward tends to his Abode,
To rest in his Embrace.
3 Fly the Riches, fly me Cares;
While I that Coast explore;
Flattering World, with all thy Snares,
Solicit me no more.
Pilgrims fix not here their Home;
Strangers tarry but a Night,
When the last dear Morn is come,
They'll rise to joyful Light.
4 Cease, ye Pilgrims, cease to mourn,
Press onward to the Prize;
Soon our Saviour will return,
Triumphant in the Skies:
Yet a Season, and you know
Happy Entrance will be giv'n,
All our Sorrows left below,
And Earth exchang'd for Heav'n.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Rise, my Soul, and stretch thy Wings |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1791 |
Topic: | liturgical: Songs of Response; Invitation ot Praise and Repentance |
Notes: | Public Domain. |