Look from Thy sphere of end­less day,
O God of mer­cy and of might,
In pi­ty look on those who stray,
Benighted in this land of light.

In peo­pled vale, in lone­ly glen,
In crowd­ed mart by stream or sea,
How ma­ny of the sons of man
Hear not the mes­sage sent from Thee!

Send forth Thy her­alds, Lord, to call
The thought­less young, the hard­ened old,
A wan­der­ing flock, and bring them all
To the good Shep­herd’s peace­ful fold.

Send them Thy migh­ty Word to speak,
Till faith shall dawn and doubt de­part,
To awe the bold, to stay the weak,
And bind and heal the brok­en heart.

Then all these wastes, a drea­ry scene,
On which with sor­row­ing eyes we gaze,
Shall grow with liv­ing wa­ters green,
And lift to Heav­en the voice of praise.