From Green-land's i-cy moun-tains,
From Ind-ia's cor-al strand;
Where Af-rica's sun-ny foun-tains
Roll down their gold-en sand:
From many an an-cient ri-ver,
From many a palm-y plain,
They call us to de-liv-er
Their land from er-ror's chain.
What though the spi-cy breez-es
Blow soft over Cey-lon's isle;
Though ev-ery pros-pect pleas-es,
And on-ly man is vile?
In vain with la-vish kind-ness
The gifts of God are strown;
The heath-en in his blind-ness
Bows down to wood and stone.
Shall we, whose souls are light-ed
With wis-dom from on high,
Shall we to those be-night-ed
The lamp of life de-ny?
Sal-va-tion! O sal-va-tion!
The joy-ful sound pro-claim,
Till earth's re-mot-est na-tion
Has learned Mes-si-ah's name.
Waft, waft, ye winds, His sto-ry,
And you, ye wa-ters, roll
Till, like a sea of glo-ry,
It spreads from pole to pole:
Till over our ran-somed na-ture
The Lamb for sin-ners slain,
Re-deem-er, King, Cre-a-tor,
In bliss re-turns to reign.