Bishop Reginald Heber

What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
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What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile;
In vain with lavish kindness
The gifts of God are strown;
The heathen in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone.

Then on! then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still.

Then on! then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still.

The heathen in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone.

The heathen in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone.

Death rides on every passing breeze,
He lurks in every flower.

Death rides on every passing breeze,
He lurks in every flower.

Before, beside us, and above
The firefly lights his lamp of love.

Before, beside us, and above
The firefly lights his lamp of love.