PRESS FORWARD FOR THE PRIZE.
By Moffatt
Though the Sadducee deride,
And the Scribe our hopes despise,
Whether weal or woe betide,
Still press forward for the prize. Pilgrims as our fathers were,
All below these changing skies,
Calls for vigilance and care,
And more zeal to win the prize. Watchfulness with prayer unite,
For the Devil in the guise
Of a messenger of light,
Labors to obscure the prize. Trust we in our risen Lord,
'Tis his Spirit that applies
Each sweet promise of the Word,
And makes clear the heavenly prize. Toil we must on this low ball,
Till our long lost Eden rise
From the ruin of the fall;
Then we'll get the heavenly prize, Till the Sun of righteousness,
With life-giving beams arise,
With renewed ardor, press
Onward, upward for the prize. Let the Sadducee deride,
And the Scribe our hopes despise,
Fire shall burn the brood of pride,
When the pure obtain the prize.