From Greeenland’s icy mountains,From India’s coral strand,Where Afric’s sunny fountainsRoll down their golden sand;From many an ancient river,From many a balmy plain,They call us, to deliverTheir land form error’s chain,They call us to deliverTheir land from error’s chain. What though the spicy breezes,Blow soft on 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.The heathen in his blindness,Bows down to wood and stone.Shall we whose souls are lightedWith wisdom from on highShall we to man benightedThe light of life deny;Salvation! Oh! salvation!The joyful sound proclaim,‘Till each remotest nation,Has learnt Messiah’s name.Till each remote nationHas learnt Messiah’s name. Waft waft ye winds, his story,And you ye waters roll,‘Till like a sea of glory,It spread from pole to pole;‘Till o’er our ransom’d nature,The lamb for sinners slain,Redeemer King, Creator,In bliss return to reign.Redeemer, King , CreatorIn bliss return to reign
