Seeking the Heavenly Prize
Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve,
And press with vigor 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:
That prize with peerless glories bright
Which shall new luster boast,
When victors’ wreaths and monarchs’ gems
Shall blend in common dust.
Blest Saviour, introduced by Thee,
Have I my race begun;
And, crowned with victory, at Thy feet
I’ll lay my honors down.
Philip Doddridge (1702-1751).