1 Lord, when we cast our eyes abroad,
And see on heathen altars slain,
Poor helpless babes for sacrifice,
To purge their parents' dismal stain;
2 We can't behold such horrid deeds
Without a groan of ardent pray'r;
And while each heart in anguish bleeds,
We cry, Lord, send thy gospel there.
3 For them we pray, for them we wait,
To them thy great salvation show;
thy harvest, Lord, is truly great,
But faithful labourers are few.
4 O send out preachers, gracious Lord,
Among that dark, bewilder'd race;
Open their eyes, and bless thy word,
And call them by thy sov'reign grace.
5 Then shall they shout thy honour'd name,
And sound thy matchless praise abroad;
And we will join them in the theme,
Salvation to our risen God.
Source: Hymns, Selected and Original: for public and private worship (1st ed.) #542