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1My race is run; my warfare’s o’er;
the solemn hour is nigh,
When, offer’d up to God, my soul
shall wing its flight on high.
2With heav’nly weapons I have fought
the battles of the Lord;
Finish’d my course, and kept the faith,
depending on his word.
3Henceforth there is laid up for me
a crown which cannot fade;
The righteous Judge at that great day
shall place it on my head.
4Nor hath the Sov’reign Lord decreed
this prize for me alone;
But for all such as love like me
th’ appearance of his Son.
5From ev’ry snare and evil work
his grace shall me defend,
And to his heav’nly kingdom safe
shall bring me in the end.