The feeble call comes winging,
Like a bird with strength all gone,
and falls upon us pleading,
"Dying souls here must be won!"

But the miles across the ocean,
Just as they tired the bird,
Often still the pleading call
Till scarcely it be heard!

But if you would love a soul next door,
You cannot brush aside
The cry for help, however weak,
That comes across the tide.

So, amplify, in heart of love,
Till heard both loud and clear,
Each missionary call for help
That falls upon your ear.

For if you love the souls of men
On distant, foreign shore,
You can't help wanting too, to win
The lost that live next door.