Tune: James Nares, 1742
Lyrics: Robert Seagrave, 1742
Meter: Particular Meter: 7,6,7,6,7,7,7,6
Rise my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace,
Rise from all terrestrial things,
T'wards 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 prepared above.
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,
Upward tends to His abode,
To rest in His embrace.
Fly my riches! Fly my cares
While that coast I explore,
Flatt'ring world with all your snares
Solicit me no more.
Pilgrims fix not here their home,
Strangers tarry but a night;
When the last bright morn shall come,
We'll rise to joyful light.
Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn,
Press onward to the prize;
Soon the Savior will return,
Triumphant thro' the skies.
Yet a season, and you know,
Happy entrance will be giv'n;
All your sorrows left below,
And earth exchanged for heav'n.