What if your own were starv­ing,
Fainting with fam­ine, pain;
And you should know where gold­en grow,
Rich fruits and rip­ened grain;
Would you hear their wail
As a thrice-told tale,
And turn to your feast again?

Refrain

They are Christ’s own, they are your own,
Soon will their hopes be flown,
Rescue them ere they’re gone.

What if your own were thirst­ing,
And ne­ver a drop would gain,
And you could tell where a spark­ling well
Poured forth me­lo­dious rain;
Would you turn aside
While they gasped and died,
And leave them to their pain?

Refrain

What if your own were dark­ened,
Without one cheer­ing ray,
And you alone could show where shone
The pure, sweet light of day;
Would you leave them there
In their dark des­pair,
And sing on your sun­lit way?

Refrain

What if your own were wan­d’ring
Far in a track­less maze,
And you could show them where to go
Along your plea­sant ways?
Would your heart be light,
Till the path­way right
Was plain be­fore their gaze?

Refrain

What if your own were pri­soned,
Far in a hos­tile land,
And the on­ly key to set them free,
Was held at your com­mand;
Would you breathe free air
While they sti­fled there,
And wait and fold your hands?

Refrain

Yet, what else are we do­ing,
Dear ones, by Christ made free,
If we will not tell what we know so well
To those across the sea,
Who have ne­ver heard
One ten­der word
Of the Lamb of Cal­va­ry?

Refrain

They are not our own, you an­swer?
They are nei­ther kith nor kin.
They are God’s own: His love alone
Can save them from their sin;
They are Christ’s own:
He left His throne
And died, their souls to win.

Refrain