Category: Poems on Missions

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
Souls in heathen darkness lying
Where no ligl’.t has broken through,
Souls that Jesus bought by dying,
Whom his soul in travail knew.
Thousand voices
Call us, o’er the waters blue.
Christians, harken; none has taught them
Of his love so deep and dear;
Of the precious price that bought them;
Of the nail, the thorn, the spear.
Ye who know him,
Guide them from their darkness drear.
Haste, oh, haste, and spread the tidings
Wide to earth’s remotest strand;
Let no brother’s bitter chidings
Rise against us when we stand
In the judgment,
From some far, forgotten land.

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
“Go ye” was the last command
The disciples heard
As their Christ, the risen Lord,
Spoke his final word.

Just before he left for heaven
In that chariot fair,
He expressed his last desire,
“Go ye ev’rywhere.”

Let the gospel sound be known
Throughout all the world,
Let the truth with mighty force
Have her folds unfurled.

For my pow’r will elevate
Man, though low and vain,
To the heights of holiness,
Cleansed from ev’ry stain.”

So the tidings come to us, —
“Let the heathen know
Of the conquering pow’r of God
Sin to overthrow.”

“Go ye unto all the tribes,
Into ev’ry sphere”;
He expressed his last desire —
“Go ye ev’rywhere.”

“Missionary Gems” — A collection of short poems
Compiled from various sources — Gospel Trumpet Company
To the Syrian camp at twilight,
Hungry, thirsty, bleeding, sore,
Came four leprous men of Israel;
Found they there abundant store —

Gold and silver, food and raiment.
“We must go the message tell,
‘Tis a day of joyful tidings;
Waiting here, we do not well.”
CHORUS.
‘Tis the day of full salvation;
Go the joyful message tell.
While we wait, the millions perish.
And we do not well.
Do we well, my precious brethren?
While they starve and die for bread,
We with heaven’s richest blessings
Are so bountifully fed.

If we tarry till the morning,
Mischief shall our souls befall.
Go and tell earth’s dying millions
There is bread enough for all.

India’s lost ones still are crying
From that sin-benighted land;
Hear those wails from darkest China,
And from Egypt’s sunlit strand!

While a soul remains in darkness
And in idleness we dwell,
Selfishly the truth enjoying,
Brethren dear, we do not well.

While a few have crossed the ocean,
Leaving all for Jesus’ name,
There is room for many others;
Go, the gospel news proclaim!

Those who roam in sin’s dominion
Can be rescued yet from hell;
While a moment’s left to save them,
If we wait, we do not well.

If we labor on for Jesus
And to every dying one
Tell the glad and joyful tidings
Till life’s fleeting day is done,

When we stand before the judgment
While our hearts with rapture swell,
We shall hear the Savior saying,
“Ye have done exceeding well.”

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

“What can I spare?” we say.
“Ah, this and this,
From mine array
I am not like to miss;

And here are crumbs to feed some hungry one;
They do but grow a cumbrance on my shelf” —
And yet one reads, Our Father gave his Son,
Our Master gave himself.

“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.

“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.

“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?

“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.