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Septuagesima

111. Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve

C.M.

Christmas:

George Frederick Handel, 1728

Philip Doddridge, 1755

Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve,

And press with vigour on;

A heavenly race demands thy zeal,

And an immortal crown.

A cloud of witnesses around

Hold thee in full survey;

Forget the steps already trod,

And onward urge thy way.

'Tis God's all-animating voice

That calls thee from on high;

'Tis his own hand presents the prize

To thine aspiring eye.

Then wake, my soul, stretch every nerve,

And press with vigour on;

A heavenly race demands thy zeal,

And an immortal crown.

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