Awake, my zeal; awake, my love,
To serve my Sav­ior here be­low,
In works which per­fect saints above
And ho­ly an­gels cannot do.

Awake, my cha­ri­ty, to feed
The hun­gry soul, and clothe the poor;
In Heav’n are found no sons of need,
There all these du­ties are no more.

Subdue thy pas­sions, O my soul!
Maintain the fight, thy work pur­sue,
Daily thy ris­ing sins con­trol,
And be thy vic­to­ries ev­er new.

The land of tri­umph lies on high,
There are no foes t’en­coun­ter there;
Lord, I would con­quer till I die,
And fin­ish all the glo­ri­ous war.

Let ev­ery fly­ing hour con­fess
I gain Thy Gos­pel fresh re­nown;
And when my life and la­bors cease,
May I pos­sess the pro­mised crown!