Oft has my youth­ful mind been led
Some for­eign re­gion for to tread,
The vast ex­panse I would ex­plore,
From west­ern isles to Ganges’ shore.

I’d see the once most Chris­tian ground,
Where first the Gos­pel’s trump did sound,
I’d see the now de­mol­ished mass,
The scant re­mains of pol­ished Greece.

The place where thou­sands once did dwell,
Has now be­come the her­mit’s cell:
A shep­herd here and there re­sides,
With ser­pents, moles, and fea­thered tribes.

I then would see the Egyp­tian plains,
Once oc­cu­pied by fru­gal swains.
I there would pause and view awhile,
The flow­ing of the riv­er Nile.

From thence I’d see old Jor­dan’s flood,
Where Is­ra­el knew their Sav­ior God;
Where John bap­tized a nu­mer­ous host,
And cir­cum­ci­sion’s seal was lost.

To Geth­se­ma­ne’s gar­den I then would go,
Where blood and tears for me did flow;
That con­se­crat­ed place I’d see,
Where Je­sus knelt and prayed for me.

Then Cal­va­ry’s skul­ly mount I’d see,
Where Sav­ior Je­sus died for me;
I’d view the place where once He stood,
And drop a tear where He dropped blood.