1 My drowsy Powe's, why sleep ye so?
Awake, my sluggish Soul!
Nothing has half thy Work to do,
Yet Nothing's half so dull.

2 The little Ants for one poor Grain
Labour, and tug, and strive,
Yet we, who have a Heav'n t' obtain,
How negligent we live?

3 We, for whose Sake all Nature stands,
And Stars their Courses move;
We, for whose Guard the Angel Bands
Come flying from above;

4 We, for whom God the Son came down
And labour'd for our Good,
How careless to secure that Crown
He purchas'd with his Blood!

5 Lord, shall we lie so sluggish still,
And never act our parts!
Come, holy Dove, from th' heav'nly Hill,
And sit and warm our Hearts.

6 Then shall our active Spirits move,
Upward our Souls shall rise;
With Hands of Faith and Wings of Love
We'll fly and take the Prize.