The voice says, Cry! What shall we cry?
All flesh is grass, and like the flower
Its glories droop, its pleasures die,
Its joys but last one fleeting hour.

The voice says, Cry! O piteous cry!
And are there none to help and save?
Have all that live beneath the sky
No other prospect but a grave?

The voice says, Cry! Yet glorious cry!
The Word of God can never fall,
And tells how Jesus, throned on high,
Holds out eternal life to all.

The voice says, Cry! Who needs the cry?
O brother men! who needs it not?
By countless millions, far and nigh,
’Tis still unheard, despised, forgot.

The voice says, Cry! What stops the cry?
Our greed of wealth, our love of ease,
Our lack of earnest will to try
Mankind to save, and God to please.

The voice says, Cry! O let us cry!
Though standing on death’s awful brink,
Men feast, they jest, they sell, they buy,
And cannot see, and will not think.

The voice says, Cry! Lord, we would cry
But of Thy goodness teach us how;
For fast the hours of mercy fly,
And, if we cry, it must be now!