William Preston Johnston - Bishop Pattison lyrics

ON the further verge of this vast round world In the waste of waters, realm of the wave, Lie dreamy isles on its bosom impearled, Where the billows surge and the strong blasts rave. For a myriad years they have been the grave Of races forgotten, unshriven, unblest; But a hero said, "they have souls to save," And went with the cross on his dreary quest. He planted the blistered blood-stained rood, And, watered with tears, it grew and spread Like the fronds of a palm, and the storms withstood; But the tempest fell on the good man's head As he prayed and toiled without surcease, Till the Lord, through martyrdom, gave release.