Classic Poem

In heathen lands afar,
In islands of the sea,
How many souls there are,
Who hear not, Lord of thee,
Who worship in the stock and stone,
The deity they have not known.

Those heathen lands afar,
Where countless children dwell,
Unlit by Bethlehem's star,
Hear not the Sabbath bell:
No Church with spire that points to Heaven,
Has to their longing eyes been given.

Then doubly blest are we,
The lamp of life to own,
The Saviour's day to see,
And worship God alone,
To stand in meekness by thy side,
Oh, Jesus Christ, the crucified.

Such wond'rous love and grace,
Demands our grateful praise,
Oh, may we seek thy face,
And serve thee all our days,
Like young Josiah, in our bloom,
Prepare for death, and yonder tomb.

Send out thy light and truth,
From Zion's holy hill,
Till every pagan youth,
Shall own thy sov'reign will,
Till idols to the bats are thrown,
And all the kingdoms are thine own.