Sexagesima Sunday

Awake my soul! and for the strife
Of onward upward Christian life
In earnest faith prepare;
Where the fight rages fierce and high,
Goes forth the Church's chivalry,
And thou too must be there.

Thy Lord awaits thee in the field,
Bring forth the spear, essay the shield,
And bind thine armour on;
Low tho' thou art, for thee there's fame,
By thee a high and honour'd name
And glory may be won.

Never, in tourney or in fight,
Did warrior old win name so bright
As thou mayst win and wear,
If, like the valiant ones of old,
Thy faith be high, thy heart be bold
To do, as well as dare.

Not with a sword by bloodshed stain'd,
Nor for a wreath that, soon as gain'd,
Shall fade upon thy brow;
But with the sword of God's good Word,
And for the ‘Well done' of thy Lord,
Go forth and conquer now.

Wait not, till foes in serried line
And burnish'd armour flash and shine,
To tempt thee to the fray;
Thine enemies are all around,
And every spot is battle-ground
Where thou canst ‘watch and pray.'

In little things of common life,
There lies the Christian's noblest strife —
When he does conscience make
Of every thought and throb within,
And words and looks of self and sin
Crushes for Jesus' sake;

And all the while no glory sees
Save in bis own infirmities,
Which magnify the Grace,
That out of weakness strength can bring.
And give so low and vile a thing:
In God's high work a place.

Then up my soul, and onward press
To Jesus, — in the wilderness
He waits and fights for thee;
Thy love to Him devoutly prove
By deeds not words, and let His love
Thy 'Shield and Buckler' be.