Christians! the glo­ri­ous hope ye know
Which soothes the heart in ev­ery woe,
While hea­thens help­less, hope­less lie:
No ray of glo­ry meets their eye.
O give to their de­sir­ing sight
The hope that Je­sus brought to light.

Christians! ye taste the heav’n­ly grace
Which cheers be­liev­ers in their race.
Uncheered by grace, through hea­then gloom
See mill­ions hast­en­ing to the tomb.
To hea­then lands that grace con­vey,
Which trains the soul for end­less day.

Christians! ye prize the Sav­ior’s blood,
In which the soul is cleansed for God.
Millions of souls in dark­ness dwell,
With none a Sav­ior’s love to tell.
O strive, that hea­thens soon may view
That pre­cious blood which cleans­eth you!