Category: Helpful Resources

“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.

“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.

“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.

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
Only for souls, our life’s work shall be;

Only for souls, till death shall set free,

We’ll strive as those running after earth’s goals,

Only for souls, only for souls.

Only for souls, while the tear-drops start;

Only for souls, though with aching heart;

Go friendships and pleasures — your death knell tolls;

Only for souls, only for souls.

Only for souls, be it far or near;

Only for souls, the summons we’ll hear,

From the heat of the tropics to earth’s icy poles;

Only for souls, only for souls.

Only for souls, though the conflict be long;

Only for souls, ‘gainst an enemy strong;

Victorious the issue — our God all controls;

Only for souls, only for souls.

Only for souls, mid reproaches and scorns;

Only for souls, o’er the pathway of thorns,

With sheepskins and goatskins, in dens, caves, and holes ;

Only for souls, only for souls.

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

Lift your eyes, my brother, sister,
Lift them to the fields all white;
Look out on the heathen millions,
Dying without life or light;
Falling like the leaves in autumn
To their graves beneath the snow;
So in one unending column
Down to death and hell they go.

Lift your eyes unto the harvest;
Listen to your Lord’s command;
Give the gospel as a witness;
Speed it to the isles and lands.

Lift your eyes, extend your vision,
Look beyond your selfish sphere,
Take a world-wide glance around you,
See the souls in guilt and fear,
Who have never known of Jesus,
Falling, dying, unprepared,
To confront us in the judgment
With the words, “You never cared.”

Lift your eyes; your heathen brethren
Never yet have even heard
Of the Christ who died to save them,
Of the blessed, living Word.
They are groping on in darkness
Hast’ning each into his grave,
Slipping fast away in sorrow,
Past our power to help or save.

Lift your eyes; the Master speaketh;
‘Tis his voice commands us still.
If you love him, truly love him,
You will answer, “Lord, I will;
I will look upon the harvest,
I will haste to lend a hand.
Praying, giving, yes, and going.”
For he’s said, “To every land.”

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
Far away in foreign regions,
Bound by strong Satanic chains,
Blood-bought sin-sick souls are dying
In a land where darkness reigns.

None to tell the love of Jesus
To those poor, benighted souls,
Perishing in heathen blindness,
While the judgment nearer rolls.

Brother, will you go and save them?
Sister, hear their plaintive cry:
Destitute of hope they’re dying,
While you’re idly standing by.

See them in their blind devotion
Bowing down to wood and stone;
Never heard the death of Jesus
Was for sinners to atone.

Will you leave them still in darkness
With their hearts as hard as stone?
While the cleansing fount is open,
O my brother, help them in!

Millions of our fellow creatures,
Steeped in sin on India’s shore;
Shrouded in the grossest darkness,
Africa has millions more.

Popish priests and carnal prophets
Hid the truth in gloom of night;
But the Lord now saves his people
In the precious evening light.

O dear brother, O my sister,
Give your talents, time, and store;
Freely give to save the heathen
Ere they’re lost forevermore.

Be in haste, time is flying;
Oh, behold their awful plight!
Jesus weeps o’er sinners dying:
Send them now the Gospel light.

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
Now; the two kinds of people on earth I mean
Are the people who lift and the people who lean.

Wherever you go you will find the earth’s masses
Are always divided in just these two classes.

And, oddly enough, you will find, too, I ween
There is only one lifter to twenty who lean.

In which class are you? Are you easing the load
Of overtaxed lifters who toil down the road?

Or are you a leaner and let others bear
Your portion of labor and problem and care?

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
My work is in a heathen land
Where sin and shame abound;

But in a Gospel paper bright
I once this question found:

“And while we have so much of light,
Will ye just let them die?”

Quick from my heart this answer came:
“Nay, Lord, not I ! not I !”

But, musing still, again it comes,
As if ‘twould deeper pry

Into my heart this question great:
“Will ye just let them die?”

“And while we have so much of light,
Will ye just let them die?”

Or will we work with all our might
To point them to the sky?

We know we have the Gospel truth
And God is in the fight;

Oh! who will give the strength of youth
To lead them to the light?

Oh! can we lightly answer this
Or careless turn away?

Nay, Lord, but deeper in our hearts
This question put, I pray.