HEARD ye not harmonious strains,
Wafted by the whispering breeze,
From dark Afric's torrid plains,
O'er the vast and stormy seas?
Once a fierce and bloody race,
Now unite in hymns of praise,
Magnify the Saviour's might,
Glorify the Spirit's light.
Loud hosannas rise around,
Thousand voices sweetly blend,
Rocks and hills repeat the sound,
High as heaven the notes ascend;
Dark of visage though they be,
See them humbly bend the knee!
Simple, earnest words they say,
O how sweet to hear them pray!
Thus the Bechuanas praise
God in new and noble songs;
May the burden of their lays
Echo wide from million tongues!
Idle worshippers profane
Raise discordant tones in vain;
Sweet hosannas rise supreme,
While the heathen priests blaspheme.
Blessings on our Moffat's head!
Many swarthy sons of Ham,
By his deathless zeal, are led
To embrace the bleeding Lamb:
Numerous nations, barbarous bands,
Tribes that traverse sultry sands,
Yet shall wake from mental sleep,
And emerge from darkness deep.
Ethiopia shall behold
In the south a flaming star,
Egypt view its rays unfold,
Beaming brightly from afar;
Purged from vile and pagan dross,
By the conquests of the cross,
Africa, through all her coasts,
Shall extol the Lord of Hosts.