Indexes for The Sacred Harp, 2025 Edition

Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace;
Rise from all terrestrial things
Towards heav’n, 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 a soul that’s born of God
Pants to view His glorious face;
Upwards tends to His abode
To rest in His embrace.