Through mid­night gloom from Ma­ce­don
The cry of my­ri­ads as of one,
The voice­ful si­lence of des­pair,
Is elo­quent in aw­ful pray­er,
The soul’s ex­ceed­ing bit­ter cry,
Come o’er and help us, or we die.

How mourn­ful­ly it ech­oes on,
For half the earth is Ma­ce­don!
These breth­ren to their breth­ren call,
And by the Love which loved them all,
And by the whole world’s Life they cry,
O ye that live, be­hold we die!

By oth­er sounds our ears are won
Than that which wails from Ma­ce­don;
The roar of gain is round us rolled,
Or we un­to them­selves are sold,
And can­not list the ali­en cry,
O hear and help us, lest we die!

Yet with that cry from Ma­ce­don
The ve­ry car of Christ rolls on!
I come; who would abide My day,
In yon­der wilds pre­pare My way!
My voice is cry­ing in their cry:
Help ye the dy­ing, lest ye die.

O once, for men, of man the Son,
Yes, Thine the cry from Ma­ce­don!
O by the king­dom and the pow­er
And glo­ry of Thine ad­vent hour,
Wake heart and will to hear their cry;
Help us to help them, lest we die!

Yet fair the hope that speeds us on
With psalms of praise for Ma­ce­don!
Thy bless­ing giv’n, Thy pro­mise bright,
Are ear­nest sweet of morn­ing light,
Till Al­le­lu­ia be the cry
Of souls that live and shall not die!