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
with wisdom from on high, –
shall we to men 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.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | From Greenland's icy mountains |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1908 |
Notes: | Melodie: von Grönlands Eisgestaden |