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 That feeds the strength of every saint.
3 Thee, 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 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.