Behold with pleas­ing ec­sta­sy
The Gos­pel stand­ard lift­ed high,
That all the na­tions from afar
May in the great sal­va­tion share!

Why then, al­migh­ty Sav­ior, why
Do wretch­ed souls in mill­ions die?
While wide th’in­fer­nal ty­rant reigns
O’er spa­cious realms in pon­der­ous chains?

And shall he still go on to boast
Thy cross its en­er­gy hath lost?
And shall Thy ser­vants still com­plain
Their la­bors, and their tears are vain?

Awake, all con­quer­ing arm, awake,
And hell’s ex­ten­sive em­pire shake;
Assert the hon­ors of Thy throne,
And call this ru­ined world Thine won.

Thine all suc­cess­ful pow­er di­splay;
Produce a na­tion in a day;
For at Thy word this bar­ren earth
Shall tra­vail with a ge­ne­ral birth.

Sift let Thy quick­en­ing Spir­it breathe
On these abodes of sin and death!
That breath shall bow ten thou­sand minds,
Like wav­ing corn be­fore the winds.

Scarce can our glow­ing hearts en­dure
A world, where Thou art known no more;
Transform it, Lord, by con­quer­ing love;
Or bear us to the realms ab­ove.