Lord, Thou hast gone two thou­sand years,
Yet they have ne­ver heard
Tidings of Thy re­deem­ing love,
Or seen Thy ho­ly Word.
Sleeping and still Thy Church has lain,
Heedless of the high com­mand—
Go forth to ev­ery tribe and tongue,
To ev­ery dist­ant land.

Refrain

Send them, O Lord, to speak of Thee,
Telling of Thy love and grace;
Send them, O Lord, to tell of Thee,
To ev­ery tribe and race.

Once o’er this bright and fa­vored land
Lay there the pall of night—
Gloom of a sa­vage hea­then­dom,
With foul and bloody rite.
Brave ones arose and came to us,
Bringing o’er the tid­ings sweet,
Then cru­el men bent low to Thee,
And wor­shiped at Thy feet.

Refrain

So would we do for oth­er lands
Lying in deep­est death,
Sinking to meet their aw­ful doom
With ev­ery pass­ing breath.
Hear, Je­sus, hear our fer­vent pray­er,
Wake Thy sleep­ing Church to know
Her hour of pri­vi­lege and pow­er,
And bid her rise and go.

Refrain