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!