7 6, 7 6, 7 6. 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 o'er Ceylon's isle, Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile! In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strewn; 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 learnt 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.
