Indexes for The Sacred Harp, 1991 Edition

Rise my soul and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace,
Rise from all terrestrial things
T’wards heaven, 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.