1 From Greenland’s icy mountains,
From India’s coral strand;
Where Afric’s sunny fountains
Roll down their golden sand:
From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver
Their land from error’s chain.

2 What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o’er Ceylon’s isle--
Though ev'ry prospect pleases,
And only man is vile?
In vain, with lavish kindness
The gifts of God are strown;
The heathen, in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone.

3 Shall we, whose souls are lighted
By wisdom from on high--
Shall we to those benighted
the lamp of life deny?
Salvation!--O salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till earth’s remotest nation
Has learned Messiah’s name.

4 Waft-- waft, ye winds, His story;
And you, ye waters, roll
Till, like a sea of glory,
It spreads from pole to pole:
Till o’er our ransomed nature
The Lamb for sinners slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator,
Returns in bliss to reign.