What If Your Own Were Starving

What if your own were starving,
Fainting with famine pain,
And yet you knew where golden grew
Rich fruit and ripened grain?
Would you hear their wail
As a thrice told tale
And turn to your feast again?

What if your own were thirsting,
And never a drop could gain,
And you could tell where a sparkling well
Poured forth melodious rain?
Would you turn aside
While they gasped and died,
And leave them to their pain?

What if your own were darkened
Without one cheering ray,
And you alone could show where shone
The pure, sweet light of day?
Would you leave them there
In their dark despair,
And sing on your sunlit way?

What if your own were wand’ring
Far in a trackless maze,
And you could show them where to go
Along your pleasant ways?
Would your heart be light,
Till the pathway right
Was plain before their gaze?

What if your own were prisoned
Far in a hostile land,
And the only key to set them free
Held in your safe command?
Would you breathe free air,
While they stifled there,
And wait and hold your hand?

Yet, what else are we doing,
Dear ones, by Christ made free,
If we will not tell what we know so well
To those across the sea,
Who have never heard
One tender word
Of the Lamb of Calvary?

“They are not our own,” you answer?
“They are neither kith nor kin.”
They are God’s own: his love alone
Can save them from their sin;
They are Christ’s own:
He left His throne
And died, their souls to win.