Proud Babylon yet waits her doom, Nor can her tottering palace fall

1 Proud Babylon yet waits her doom;
Nor can her tott'ring palace fall,
Till some blest messenger arise,
The ransom'd heathen world to call.

2 Now see the glorious time approach!
Behold the mighty angel fly,
The gospel tidings to convey
To ev'ry land beneath the sky!

3 See the kind native of Pelew
With rapture greet the sacred sound;
And, for a Saviour's precious name,
Throw his mean idols to the ground.

4 O see, on Otaheite's isle,
And Africa's unhappy shore,
The unlearn'd savage press to hear;
And hearing, wonder and adore.

5 See, while the joyful truth is told,
That Jesus left his throne in heaven,
And suffered, died, and rose again,
That all his sins might be forgiv'n:

6 See what delight, unfelt before,
Beams in his fix'd, attentive eye;
And hear him ask--"For wretched me,
Did this divine Redeemer die?"

7 "Ah! why have ye so long forborne
To tell such welcome news at this?
Go now, let ev'ry sinner hear,
And share in such exalted bliss!"

8 Now, Babylon, thy hour is come,
Thy curse'd foundation shall give way;
And thine eternal overthrow
The triumphs of the cross display!

Source: Hymns, Selected and Original: for public and private worship (1st ed.) #537

• MIDI file from The Cyber Hymnal #7852