Awake, my soul! stretch every nerve,
And press with vigour on;
A heavenly race demands thy zeal,
And an immortal crown.
— Philip Doddridge
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More quotes by Philip Doddridge
Ye servants of the Lord,
Each in his office wait,
Observant of the heavenly word,
And watchful at his gate.
His goodness stands approved,
Unchanged from day to day;
I'll drop my burden at His feet,
And bear a song away.
O God of Bethel! by whose hand
Thy people still are fed,
Who through this weary pilgrimage
Hast all our fathers led.
Hark, the glad sound! The Savior comes,
The Savior promised long;
Let every heart exult with joy,
And every voice be song!
No more fatigue, no more distress,
Nor sin nor death shall reach the place;
No groans shall mingle with the songs
That warble from immortal tongues.
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