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.