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Will you listen to the cry of Russia?
Will you hearken as her children weep?
They are hungry, but the fields are barren,
They are thirsty, and the well is deep.
Yea and deep in sin their souls are sunken,
“Miry clay,” foundation for their feet.
So the ages went with no glad footsteps,
No one came with peace and joy to greet.
And they suffered till their chains grew rusty,
And they waited till their eyes grew dim.
Oh of life, in very death despairing,
Long they waited to he told of HIM.
Him who suffered, yea and died to save them,
Him who waited long for their return,
As they listened to their Shepherd’s story.
How for joy their hearts within did hum!
Chains at last are hroken! Exile places
By the Cross are changed to Christian homes;
And the Word is preached throughout the nation,
Both in peasant huts and princely domes.
They are waiting, Russia’s millions waiting,
Only few are freed hy Christ as yet.
Who will go, and who will help the going?
Hasten then, before the sun is set!
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