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.
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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. good poem but the last stanza is brilliant