If you can­not cross the ocean,
And the hea­then lands ex­plore,
You may find the hea­then near­er,
You may help them at your door;
If you can­not give your thou­sands,
You can give the wi­dow’s mite;
And the least you do for Je­sus
Will be pre­cious in His sight.

If you can­not sing like an­gels,
If you can­not preach like Paul,
You can tell the love of Je­sus,
You can say, He died for all;
If you can­not rouse the wick­ed
With the judg­ment’s dread alarms,
You can lead the lit­tle child­ren,
To the Sav­ior’s wait­ing arms.

Let none hear you id­ly say­ing,
There is no­thing I can do,
While the souls of men are dy­ing,
And the Mas­ter calls for you:
Take the task He gives you glad­ly,
Let His work your plea­sure be;
Answer quick­ly when He call­eth,
Here I am, send me, send me.