1. Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings, thy better portion trace;
    Rise from transitory things toward heaven, 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.
  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, longs to view His glorious face,
    Forward tends to His abode to rest in His embrace.
  3. Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn; press onward to the prize;
    Soon our 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 exhcanged for heaven.

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