If you cannot cross the ocean,
And the heathen lands explore,
You may find the heathen nearer,
You may help them at your door;
If you cannot give your thousands,
You can give the widow’s mite;
And the least you do for Jesus
Will be precious in His sight.

If you cannot sing like angels,
If you cannot preach like Paul,
You can tell the love of Jesus,
You can say, He died for all;
If you cannot rouse the wicked
With the judgment’s dread alarms,
You can lead the little children,
To the Savior’s waiting arms.

Let none hear you idly saying,
There is nothing I can do,
While the souls of men are dying,
And the Master calls for you:
Take the task He gives you gladly,
Let His work your pleasure be;
Answer quickly when He calleth,
Here I am, send me, send me.