Hark! the voice of Jesus crying,

Who will go and work to-day?

Fields are white, and harvests waiting,

Who will bear the sheaves away?

Loud and long the Master calleth,

Rich reward He offers free;

Who will answer? gladly saying,

Here am I; send me, send me!

If you cannot cross the ocean,

And the heathen lands explore,

You can find the heathen nearer,

You can help them at your door;

If you cannot give your thousands,

You can give the widow's mite,

And the least you give for Jesus

Will be precious in His sight.

If you cannot be the watchman

Standing high on Zion's wall,

Pointing out the path to heaven,

Offering life and peace to all,

With your pray’rs and with your bounties

You can do what Heav’n demands;

You can be like faithful Aaron

Holding up the prophet’s hands.

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 am I; send me, send me!