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Text: | The Pilgrim's Song |
1 Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace;
Rise from transitory things,
Tow'rds heaven thy native place:
Sun, and moon, and stars, decay,
Time shall soon this earth remove;
Rise, my soul, and haste away
To seats prepar'd above.
2 Rivers to the ocean run,
Nor stay in all their course,
Fire ascending seeks the sun,
Both speed them to their source;
So a soul, that's born of God,
Pants to view his glorious face;
Upward tends to his abode,
To rest in his embrace.
3 Fly me, riches; fly me, cares,
While I that coast explore,
Flattering world, with all thy snares,
Solicit me no more:
Pilgrims fix not here their home,
Strangers tarry but a night,
When the last dear morn is come,
They'll rise to joyful light.
4 Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn,
Press onward to the prize;
Soon the Saviour will return,
Triumphant in the skies:
Yet a season, and you know
Happy entrance will be given,
All our sorrows left below,
And earth exchang'd for heaven.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings |
Title: | The Pilgrim's Song |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1785 |