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 on Ceylon's isle;

Though every 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 

Can we, whose souls are lighted

   With wisdom from on high;

Can we to men benighted

   The lamp of life deny?

Salvation! O salvation!

   The joyful sound proclaim,

Till each 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,

   In bliss returns to reign.