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.