Christians! the glo­ri­ous hope ye know
Which soothes the heart in every woe,
While heathens helpless, hopeless lie:
No ray of glo­ry meets their eye.
O give to their desiring sight
The hope that Je­sus brought to light.

Christians! ye taste the heavenly grace
Which cheers believers in their race.
Uncheered by grace, through heathen gloom
See millions hastening to the tomb.
To heathen lands that grace convey,
Which trains the soul for endless day.

Christians! ye prize the Sav­ior’s blood,
In which the soul is cleansed for God.
Millions of souls in darkness dwell,
With none a Sav­ior’s love to tell.
O strive, that heathens soon may view
That precious blood which cleanseth you!