A PLEA FOR THE HEATHEN.
By Anon.
The night of the world is falling,
And, brothers! no common cry
Comes out from the distance, calling
The multitudes passing by:— “O leave us not here to perish!
Christ died not alone for you,
Your dear ones ye well may cherish,
But can ye not love us, too? “Glad tidings your own heart filling
Should surely o’erflow to all;
Answer! Are none of you willing
To follow your Master’s call?” It is not for the want of pleading
Men go on their way unstirred,
But the Gospel they pass unheeding
The heathen have never heard. The sweetness of God’s salvation
Is still to the world unknown,
And many a mighty nation
Does homage to wood and stone. The Master Himself will measure
Your part in this solemn call;
He noticed the rich man’s treasure,
He valued the widow’s all. The world for its Lord is waiting!
O, with pity unfelt before,
And a zeal that is unabating,
Press in through the open door. Go ye! ’tis a high endeavor!
And happy are all who toil;
The battle is not forever,
And you shall divide the spoil.