Proud Ba­by­lon yet waits her doom;
Nor can her tot­ter­ing pa­lace fall,
Till some blest mes­sen­ger arise
The spa­cious hea­then world to call.

And see the glo­ri­ous time ap­proach!
Behold the migh­ty an­gel fly,
The Gos­pel tid­ings to con­vey
To ev­ery land be­neath the sky!

O see, on both the In­dias coast,
And Af­ri­ca’s un­hap­py shore,
The un­learned sav­ag­es press to hear;
And hear­ing, won­der and adore.

See, while the joy­ful truth is told,
That Je­sus left His throne in Hea­ven,
And suf­fered, died and rose again,
That guil­ty souls might be for­giv­en.

See what de­light, un­felt be­fore,
Beams in his fixed at­tent­ive eye;
And hear him ask, For wretch­ed me,
Did this divine Re­deem­er die?

Ah! why have ye so long for­borne
To tell such wel­come news as this?
Go now, let ev­ery sin­ner hear,
And share in such ex­alt­ed bliss.

The is­lands, wait­ing for His law,
With rap­ture greet the sac­red sound;
And, taught the Sav­iour’s pre­cious name,
Cast all their id­ols to the ground.

Now, Ba­by­lon, thy hour is come,
Thy curs­ed foun­da­tion shall give way,
And thine eter­nal ov­er­throw
The tri­umphs of the cross dis­play.