A plaintive plea comes o’er the sea
From nations in distress;
From darkest night they ask for light,
Their ruined land to bless.
A plaintive plea comes o’er the sea;
How long, O Lord, still must they wait?
Oh, hasten there with faith and prayer,
Or soon ’twill be too late.
The ripened grain on India’s plain,
Still waits for reapers true;
Hours swiftly fly while daily die
The millions in their woe.
The strong command to every land—
Go, spread the Gospel news!
Then haste away, till truth shall sway
Its scepter o’er the seas.
A plaintive plea, oh, can it be
Their souls are doomed and lost?
Go save them now till all shall bow
Before the Savior’s cross.