1 Awake, ye saints! and raise your eyes,
And raise your voices high:
Away, and praise your Maker's love,
Which shows salvation nigh.
2 Swift on the wings of time it flies;
Each moment brings it near:
Then welcome each declining day,
Welcome each closing year!
3 Not many years their round shall run,
Nor many mornings rise,
Ere all its glories stand reveal'd
To our admiring eyes.
4 Ye wheels of nature! Speed your course;
Ye mortal pow'rs! decay:
Sure as ye bring the night of death,
Ye bring eternal day.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Awake, ye saints! and raise your eyes |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1814 |
Topic: | Death |