Someone must go to the far off lands
Where the tem­ple shrine of the id­ol stands,
Where the heart bows down to its gods of gold,
And the soul to blind­ness and death is sold.

Refrain

Who will run with the tid­ings and bear them away,
To the soul in its night as it gropes for the day?
Who will say when the whis­per comes ov­er the sea,
Here, Lord, am I—send me, send me?

Someone must weep for the soul that sighs,
In its pain and woe under hea­then skies;
In the far off land where it bows un­blest,
With no hope to cheer, with no ark of rest.

Refrain

O’er earth’s wide realm send the tid­ings forth,
Let the news be told of a Sav­ior’s birth;
Let the isles re­joice and on ev­ery shore,
Shout the glad new song, life for­ev­er­more.

Refrain