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,
  Bows 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,
Redeemer, King, Creator,
  In bliss returns to reign.