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 straight and thorny road,

And mortal spirits tire and faint;

But they forget the mighty God,

Who feeds the strength of every saint;

3 The 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 full supply;

While those who trust their native strength,

Shall melt away, and droop, 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 amid the heavenly road.