4372 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 my soul, that’s born of God, pants to view His glorious face,

Upward tends to His abode, to rest in His embrace.

Fly me riches, fly me cares, whilst I that coast explore;

Flattering world, with all thy snares, solicit me no more.

Pilgrims fix not here their home; strangers tarry but a night;

When the last dear morn is come, they’ll rise to joyful light.

Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn, press onward to the prize;

Soon thy 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.

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