From Greenland's Icy Mountains.
Composed (or the pianoforte by Lowell Mason.
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 tho' the spicy breezes blow soft o'er Ceylon's Isle,
Tho' ev'ry 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.
Shall we, whose souls are lighted by wisdom from on high,
Shall we to men benighted the lamp of life deny?
Salvation! Oh, salvation! the joyful sound proclaim,
Till earth's remotest nation has learnt 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 ransom'd nature, the lamb for sinners slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator, in bliss returns to reign.