One thousand-million souls!
In deep and dark despair,
They lie in speechless woe,
In wan and weary care.
No God, no Christ, no hope
In rayless gloom they grope,
And dying, without hope,
And dying without hope.

’Mid China’s peopled plains,
Or Greenland’s frozen snow,
Where India’s temple fanes
In glittering splendors glow—
On many an ocean isle,
’Mid nature’s sweetest smile,
One night of horror reigns,
One night of horror reigns.

One thousand-million souls,
As hopeless wanderers die,
No gleam of light appears
Along their darkened sky.
No Christ to them made known,
No blood which doth atone,
For sins of deepest dye,
For sins of deepest dye.

And must they die unsought?
Die in their voiceless grief?
Die, ’mid their woes untaught?
Die like the withered leaf?
And in their hour of need
Shall none give willing heed
Or send the craved relief,
Or send the craved relief?

No, no, it must not be—
Rise, sluggish Church of God,
The Sav­ior calls to thee:
Thro’ all the earth abroad,
Go, ere the years are flown,
And there My love make known,
Wherever man hath trod,
Wherever man hath trod.