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DARKEST CHINA

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
Blood-bought souls in darkest China,
On the far-off shores away;
With their outstretched hands they beckon,
Pleading, call, for me today.

Blood-bought souls in darkest China,
Under sin’s oppressive reign,
Ple-id for help; shall we still leave them
Bound with Satan’s galling chain?

Blood-bought souls in darkest China,
Born to poverty and shame,
Wait to hear the glorious freedom
We have found in Jesus’ name.

Blood-bought souls in darkest China,
Bowed beneath the tyrant’s rod,
Long have waited for the freedom
Of the blessed church of God.

Blood-bought souls in darkest China
Bid me hasten there today;
Longer here I can not tarry,
I must to that shore away.

Now they famish, starve and die;
To their rescue let me fly.
Jesus calls, I must obey,
To dark China now away.

NOTHING TO DO

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company

Nothing to do? O folded hands,
Why do ye lie, so white and fair,
When the sad world on every side
Calls for your help and earnest care?

Nothing to do? There are tired feet,
Weary with walking life’s sinful road,
Show them the way to paths so sweet,
That point to heaven and lead to God.

Nothing to do but to live at ease
When thousands fall on every side?
You might have helped them to bear the load,
To breast the swift and rushing tide.

Nothing to do? Your days are bright
With golden eves and sunny morns;
You gather flowers from morn till night,
While many are pierced with cruel thorns.

Nothing to do? What will you say,
When the Lord of the harvest asks of you,
“What hast thou gleaned in my field today?”
Lord, there was nothing for me to do.

IS IT NOTHING TO YOU? (Lam. 1:12.)

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
Is it nothing to you, O ye Christians!
That Africa walks in night?
That Christians at home deny them
The blessed gospel light?
The cry goes up this morning
From a heart-broken race of slaves,
And seven hundred every hour
Sink into Christless graves!
Is it nothing to you, O ye Christians!
That in India’s far-away land
There are thousands of people pleading,
For the touch of a Savior’s hand?
They are groping and trying to find him,
And although he is ready to save,
Eight hundred precious souls each hour
Sink into a Christless grave!
Is it nothing to you, O ye Christians !
That millions of beings today
In the heathen darkness of China
Are rapidly passing away?
They have never heard the story
Of the loving Lord who saves,
And fourteen hundred every hour
Are sinking to Christless graves!
Is it nothing to you, O ye Christians?

Will ye pass by and say,
“It is nothing — we can not aid them”?
You can give, or go, or pray;
You can save your souls from blood-guiltiness,
For in lands you have never trod
The heathen are dying every day,
And dying without God.
Is it nothing to you, O ye Christians?
Dare ye say ye have naught to do?
All over the world they wait for the light,
And is this nothing to you?

GO YE

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
There’s a call from the far-off heathen land;
Oh, what can we do for the great demand?

We have not wealth, like the rich man’s store;
We will give ourselves: we have nothing more.

We will give our feet: they shall go and go
Till the heathen’s story the world shall know.

We will give our hands, till their work shall turn
To the gold we have not, but they can earn.

We will give our eyes the story to read
Of the heathen’s sorrow, the heathen’s need.

We will give our tongues the story to tell
Till the Christian hearts shall with pity swell.

We have little to give; but by and by
We may have a call from the voice on high —

“Go bear my Gospel o’er land and sea,
Into all the world go ye, go ye.”

Though of silver and gold we have none at all,
We give ourselves, for we hear that call.

MISSIONARY

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company

The call of God to Christians comes
To make his message known
Till dwellers of all climes and tongues
Bow down before his throne.

Few give their time and few their gold
Obedient to his will,
And few their lives and few their prayers,
His purpose to fulfill.

Yet millions walk in darkest night
E’en though the beams divine
With healing streams of purest light
Upon earth’s pathways shine.

THE HEATHEN CHILD TO THE AMERICAN CHILD

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company

If you had been born in a far-off land,
Far over the deep, wide sea,
And I in America had my home,
In America, land of the free;
If you were I and I were you,
Do you know what I would do?

If you had been born with a swarthy skin,
And people looked on you with scorn,
While I knew nothing is black but sin
And the soul may be white as the lily at morn;
If I had a chance to uplift you
Do you know what I would do?

If you were an orphan and homeless too,
And never had heard of the Lord,
While I had been taught from earliest days
To love and obey his Word;
If you were poor and ignorant too,
Do you know what I would do?

I would save my pennies and nickels and dimes,
And send them over the sea,
That you might be fed and clothed and taught
To worship the God who is dear to me.
If you were I and I were you,
That is what I would do.

I’d tell all the boys and girls around
Just what I was working for, too,
And I’d never give up till I’d got them to help
Send the gospel to the needy like you.
If you were I and I were you,
That is what I would do.

FOR THE SERVICE OF THE KING

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
For the service of the King,
Wanted! Let the summons ring :
Wanted over Africa’s strand,
O’er the burning desert land;
Wanted out on India’s plain;
Wanted in China and Japan,
In the market, on the river;
Wanted now, and wanted ever —
Let again the echo ring —
Wanted! Wanted for the King.

Wanted men of faith and fire,
Men whose zeal will never tire,
Men whose hearts are all aglow,
To the world the Christ to show,
Christ uplifted, souls to save
From the gloom of death’s dark wave;
Men who dare leave father, mother,
Business, pleasure, sister, brother.
Louder let the summons ring,
Wanted! Wanted for the King.

Wanted women, tender true;
Women’s work none else can do.
Women sit in darkness yonder
While we hesitate and wonder;
Women cursed with bands that tighten,
Bands of caste, which none can lighten.
Sisters, give a helping hand.
Take God’s peace to ev’ry land;
Hear ye not the echo ring?
Women wanted for the King.

Am I wanted, blessed Lord?
Have I heard aright the word —
I who am so weak and poor
Naught can bring of earthly store?
Empty vessel though I be,
Canst thou make me meet for thee?
Use me as thou wilt, my Savior,
In thy presence grant me favor,
Help me now my life to bring
For the service of the King.

IS IT NOTHING?

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
Is it nothing to you, O Christian, that millions of beings today,
In bondage in ancient China, are rapidly passing away?
They have never heard the sweet story of Him who lovingly saves,
Yet fourteen hundred ev’ry hour are passing to Christ-less graves.

Is it nothing to you, O Christian, that in India’s far-away land
There are multitudes sadly needing the touch of Immanuel’s hand?
They’re famishing there and helpless. What spiritual food have we given?
Hour by hour twelve hundred souls pass, by death resistless driven.

Is it nothing to you, O Christian, that Africa walks in the night,
While we upon whom the lamp shineth are failing to carry the light?
There shadows of darkness fall deeper; they wait the dawning of day;
While hourly the souls of eight hundred, benighted, are passing away.

Is it nothing to you, O Christian, that on South America’s soil
There are seven and thirty millions, and few for the Savior toil?
Its people are rapidly falling beneath superstition’s load,
Not knowing the message of mercy, the wonderful love of God.

Is it nothing to you. O Christian, the prosperous Sunrise Land
Has forty eager millions, where doors wide open stand?
There Buddha binds his captive hosts with proud oppression’s chains.
Oh, break their iron-wrought fetters; their freedom the Savior claims.

Is it nothing to you, O Christian, that Tibet’s enclosed in sin,
Six millions there dwell in terror, but let not God’s messengers in?
Oh, pray that its gates wide may op’n, for then would the story be told
Of peace and good-will sent from heaven, the news that never grows old.

Is it nothing to you, O Christian? Then surely you’re slumbering now.
The Master’s command is still urgent: “Away — preach the gospel thou.”
Among the vast host of believers how few of the number we see
Forsaking the ties of the home lands to point men to Calvary’s tree!

Is it nothing to you, O Christian? Can you leisurely stand and say,
“It is nothing; how can I help them”? You may go, or give, or pray.
Free your soul from guilt that now threatens, for in lands that you’ve never trod
The nations in thousands are dying, dying not know- ing of God.