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 vic’tries 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! |