To serve my Savior here below,
In works which perfect saints above
And holy angels cannot do.
Awake my charity, to feed
The hungry soul, and clothe the poor:
In heaven are found no sons of need,
There all these duties are no more.
Subdue thy passions, O my soul!
Maintain the fight, thy work pursue,
Daily thy rising sins control,
And be thy victories ever new.
The land of triumph lies on high,
There are no foes t’ encounter there:
Lord, I would conquer till I die,
And finish all the glorious war.
Let every flying hour confess
I gave Thy gospel fresh renown;
And when my life and labor cease,
May I possess the promis’d crown. —Isaac Watts