1 My race is run; my warfare’s o’er;
the solemn hour is nigh,
when, offer'd up to God, my soul
shall wing its flight on high.
2 With heav’nly weapons I have fought
the battles of the Lord;
finish'd my course, and kept the faith,
depending on his word.

3 Henceforth there is laid up for me
a crown which cannot fade;
the righteous Judge at that great day
shall place it on my head.
4 Nor hath the Sov’reign Lord decreed
this prize for me alone;
but for all such as love like me
th’ appearance of his Son.

5 From ev’ry snare and evil work
his grace shall me defend,
and to his heav’nly kingdom safe
shall bring me in the end.