Awake, My Soul, nor Slumbering Lie

Awake

my soul

nor slum­ber­ing lie

Amid the gloomy haunts of death;

Perhaps the aw­ful hour is nigh

Commissioned for my part­ing breath.

That aw­ful hour will soon ap­pear

Swift on the wings of time it flies

When all that pains or pleas­es here

Will van­ish from my clos­ing eyes.

Death calls my friends

my neigh­bors hence

And none re­sist the fa­tal dart;

Continual warn­ings strike my sense

And shall they fail to reach my heart?

Shall gay amuse­ments rise be­tween

When scenes of hor­ror spread around?

Death’s point­ed ar­rows fly un­seen

But ah

how sure

how deep they wound!

Think

O my soul

how much de­pends

On the short pe­ri­od of a day;

Shall time

which Heav’n in mer­cy lends

Be ne­gli­gent­ly thrown away?

Thy rem­nant min­utes strive to use

Awake! rouse ev­ery ac­tive pow­er!

And not in dreams or tri­fles lose

This lit­tle now! this pre­cious hour!

Lord of my life

in­spire my heart

With heav’n­ly ar­dor

grace di­vine;

Nor let Thy pre­sence e’er de­part

For strength

and life

and death are Thine.

O teach me the ce­les­ti­al skill

Each aw­ful warn­ing to im­prove!

And while my days are short­en­ing still

Prepare me for the joys above.

Ensure my nob­ler life on high

Life

from a dy­ing Sav­ior’s blood!

Then

though my min­utes swift­ly fly

They bear me near­er to my God.