My soul, it is thy God

Who calls thee by his grace;

Now loose thee from each cumbering load,

And bend thee to the race.

2 Make thy salvation sure;

All sloth and slumber shun;

Nor dare a moment rest secure,

Till thou the goal hast won.

3 Thy crown of life hold fast;

Thy heart with courage stay;

Nor let one trembling glance be cast

Along the backward way.

4 Thy path ascends the skies,

With conquering footsteps bright;

And thou shalt win and wear the prize

In everlasting light.