Complaining of spiritual sloth.
My drowsy powers, why sleep ye so?
Awake, my sluggish soul!
Nothing has half thy work to do,
Yet nothing's half so dull.
The little ants for one poor grain
Labor, and tug, and strive;
Yet we, who have a heav'n t' obtain,
How negligent we live!
We, for whose sake all nature stands,
And stars their courses move;
We, for whose guard the angel bands
Come flying from above;
We, for whom God the Son came down
And labored for our good,
How careless to secure that crown
He purchased with his blood!
Lord, shall we lie so sluggish still,
And never act our parts?
Come, holy Dove, from th' heav'nly hill,
And sit and warm our hearts.
Then shall our active spirits move,
Upward our souls shall rise;
With hands of faith and wings of love
We'll fly and take the prize.