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, Triumphant in the skies;

Yet a season, and you know Happy entrance will be given,

All our sorrows left below, And earth exchanged for heaven.