Where’er the blus­ter­ing north wind blows,
And spreads its frosts or flee­cy snows;
Where’er the sun with quick­en­ing ray,
Shines all abroad and gives the day—

Where’er the less­er orbs of light
Dart forth their beams and gild the night,
There may His her­alds loud pro­claim,
The Sav­ior’s love, the Sav­ior’s name.

In work so pleas­ing, so be­nign,
Let all the saints in con­cert join;
A name so great, a love so strong,
In ev­ery world de­mands a song.