630. Rise, My Soul, and Stretch Thy Wings

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. 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. Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn; Press onward to the prize; Soon our Savior will return, t Riumphant in the skies; Yet a season, and you know Happy entrance will be given, All our sorrows left below, And earth exchanged for heaven.