Go, ye her­alds of sal­va­tion,
Go, pro­claim Re­deem­ing blood;
Publish to that bar­bar­ous na­tion,
Peace and par­don from our God:
Tell the hea­then,
None but Christ can do them good.

While the Gos­pel trump you’re sound­ing,
May the Spir­it seal the Word,
And, thro’ plen­te­ous grace abound­ing,
Heathen bow and own the Lord;
Idols leav­ing,
God alone shall be ad­ored.

Distant tho’ our souls are blend­ing
Still our hearts are warm and true;
In our pray­ers to Heav’n as­cend­ing,
Brethren—we’ll re­mem­ber you;
Heav’n pre­serve you,
Safely all your jour­ney through.

When your mis­sion here is fin­ished,
And your work on earth is done,
May your souls, by grace re­plen­ished,
Find ac­cept­ance thro’ the Son;
Thence admit­ted,
Dwell for ev­er near His throne.

Loud ho­san­nas now re­sound­ing,
Make the heav’n­ly arch­es ring:
Grace to sin­ful men abound­ing,
Ransomed mill­ions sweet­ly sing;
While, with rap­ture,
All adore their heav’n­ly king.