1 Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace,
Rise from transitory things,
T'wards 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 my soul new born of God
Pants to view his glorious face,
Upward tends to his abode,
To rest in his embrace.

3 Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn;
Press onward to the prize;
Soon the Savior 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.