Hark! what mean those lamentations,
Rolling sadly through the sky?
’Tis the cry of heathen nations,
Come and help, or we die!
Lost and helpless and desponding,
Wrapped in error’s night they lie;
To their cries your hearts responding,
Haste to help them ere they die.
Hark! again those lamentations
Rolling sadly through the sky,
Louder cry the heathen nations—
Come and help us, or we die.
Hear the heathen’s sad complaining,
Christians, hear their dying cry;
And the love of Christ constraining,
Join to help them, ere they die.