From Greenland's icy mountains,

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.

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, Bow down to wood and stone.

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.

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, Redeemed, King, Creator, In bliss returns to reign.