Text: | The Pilgrim's Song |
1 Rise, my soul, and stretch thy Wings,
Thy better Portion trace,
Rise from Transitory Things,
Tow'rds Heav'n, 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 a soul that's born of God,
Pants to view his glorious Face;
Upwards tends to his abode,
To rest in his Embrace.
3 Fly me Riches, fly me Cares;
Whilst I that Coast explore;
Flattering World, with all thy Snares,
Solicit me no more.
Pilgrims fix not here their Home;
Strangers tarry but a Night,
When the last dear Morn is come,
They'l rise to joyful Light.
4 Cease, ye Pilgrims, cease to mourn,
Press onward to the Prize;
Soon our Saviour will return
Triumphant in the Skies:
Yet a Season and you know
Happy Entrance will be given
All our Sorrows cast below,
And Earth exchang'd for Heaven.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Rise, my soul, and stretch thy Wings |
Title: | The Pilgrim's Song |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1774 |