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 strown; The heathen in his blindness,     Bows down to wood and stone.
3	Shall we, whose souls are lighted     By wisdom from on high-- Shall we to those benighted     The lamp of life deny? Salvation! O salvation!     The joyful sound proclaim, Till earth's 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.
R. Heber