Proud Babylon yet waits her doom;
Nor can her tottering palace fall,
Till some blest messenger arise
The spacious heathen world to call.

And see the glo­ri­ous time approach!
Behold the mighty angel fly,
The Gos­pel tidings to convey
To every land beneath the sky!

O see, on both the Indias coast,
And Africa’s unhappy shore,
The unlearned savages press to hear;
And hearing, wonder and adore.

See, while the joyful truth is told,
That Je­sus left His throne in Hea­ven,
And suffered, died and rose again,
That guilty souls might be forgiven.

See what delight, unfelt before,
Beams in his fixed attentive eye;
And hear him ask, For wretched me,
Did this divine Re­deem­er die?

Ah! why have ye so long forborne
To tell such welcome news as this?
Go now, let every sinner hear,
And share in such exalted bliss.

The islands, waiting for His law,
With rapture greet the sacred sound;
And, taught the Saviour’s precious name,
Cast all their idols to the ground.

Now, Babylon, thy hour is come,
Thy cursed foundation shall give way,
And thine eter­nal overthrow
The triumphs of the cross display.