I would not fear; the raging seas To sound aloud the gospel trump The mission field is blooming white, The northern Indians we can hear, I would not fear the scorching sands, Ye winds, now waft the mission ship! Till every Island of the sea, Their Savior gladly hail. Now give the heathen to the Son, THE INDIAN MISSION. Blow ye, the trumpet blow! On every nation call: Go call the Indian from the wood, And point him to his Savior God! O'er rocky mountains you must go, And widest prairies cross; And every roving tribe must know Who bled upon the Cross. Go call the Indian from the wood, Go call the Indian from the wood, In secret now they humbly kneel, Go call the Indian from the wood, Go call the Indian from the wood, The voice of prayer we then shall hear, And countless songs of praises cheer, Go call the indian from the wood, ZION. O why does Zion languish here? No galling chains we now do wear, Down Babylon's cold streams we go, A song of Zion we refuse, To our eternal King. No inquisition now appears, To frighten those that worship him, No heathen king the sceptre sways, Then to the altar we should go, Thy joys Jerusalem returns, New songs of praise unto our God, ON POPERY. Almighty God I pray appear, Has not the man of sin revived, Princes and rulers all have joined, up Designing priests with haughty strides, March through our christian land, Their pois'nous doctrine they instill Into the hearts of men, The Papal powers they do revive, The Pope of Rome he hath declared, Shall not united christains join, The inquisition they'll revive, Our God he will defend our cause, Restore to us tranquility, And break the Romish band. Our pure religion we'll defend, Our strength it is in God alone, The gates of hell shall not prevail, D |