1 How lovely are the silver rills
That down the mountain glide;
How soft the dew on Zion’s hills,
And Hermon’s loftier side.
2 But softer than the drops of dew,
Than silver rills more fair,
Is Gospel light, revealed to view
In regions lone and bare.
3 What though in earthen vessels borne,
Yet glorious ’tis to pour
Instruction, like the beams of morn,
On nations dark before.
4 So full of energy divine,
The Lord’s enlightening Word
Can make the cheerless desert shine
A garden of the Lord.
5 What though the messenger be weak;
E’en angels might rejoice
To speak the words that he shall speak,
Or listen to his voice:
6 When in a lone and savage place
Some human footprints say,
“Pursue, thou minister of grace,
Thy heav’nly Master’s way.
7 “Go, find the lost, that they may live;
The wanderers bring again;
Nor seek, in what our hands can give,
Rewards for half thy pain.
8 “In yonder tent a hardy race
Invites the Shepherd’s care,
To lead them to the throne of grace
In penitence and prayer.
9 “Soon by those wild and simple ones
Shall pious hymns be sung,
And they shall breathe in Christian tones
Their own, their native tongue.
10 “And happy thou, when life is past,
And all is peace and rest,
Should they, through thee, have learned at last
The language of the blest!
11 “Thy fare is coarse, thy couch is hard,
And thorns thy path attend;
But think upon the great reward
That crowns thy journey’s end.
12 "In all the scenes of life’s alloy
Be this thy soul’s relief;
Thy Master went not up to joy,
But first He suffered grief."
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