To the Syrian camp at twilight, Hungry, thirsty, bleeding, sore, Came four leprous men of Israel; Found they there abundant store— Gold and silver, food and raiment, “We must go the message tell, ’Tis a day of joyful tidings, Waiting here, we do not well.”
Refrain: ’Tis the day of full salvation, Go, the joyful message tell; While we wait the millions perish, And we do not well.
Do we well, my precious brethren? While they starve and die for bread, We, with heaven’s richest blessings, Are so bountifully fed; If we tarry till the morning, Mischief shall our souls befall— Go and tell earth’s dying millions, There is bread enough for all.
India’s lost ones still are crying, From that sin-benighted land; Hear those wails from darkest China, And from Egypt’s sunlit strand; While a soul remains in darkness, And in idleness we dwell, Selfishly the truth enjoying, Brethren, dear, we do not well.
While a few have crossed the ocean, Leaving all for Jesus’ name, There is room for many others— Go, the gospel news proclaim! Those who roam in sin’s dominion Can be rescued yet from hell, While a moment’s left to save them; If we wait, we do not well.
If we labor on for Jesus, And to every dying one Tell the glad and joyful tidings, Till life’s fleeting day is done, When we stand before the judgment, While our hearts with rapture swell, We shall hear the Savior saying, “Ye have done exceeding well.”
