1 How can I be happy, How can I be gay,
While over the wide, rolling sea,
From the myriad islands and hands far remote
Sweet voices are calling to me;
From afar where the ice peaks rear their heads,
Or the Ganges laps and purls,
With sobs and with pleadings for life and for hope
Comes the voice of the dear heathen girl.

2 No welcome awaits her, no deep tenderness
Makes blessed the day of her birth,
No place has the maiden, no joy and no love,
No honor in heaven or on earth;
Oh, my heart, how it thrills with its pity and pain!
How I long those strong shackles to hurl
To the darkness that forged them, and out of the gloom
Of her night lead the dear heathen girl.

3 "Ye shall suffer the little ones," Jesus hath said,
"To come unto me and be blessed,"
But how can they come who know naught of the way
To the Saviour who lovingly pressed
To the heart of a God all the little ones! then,
Oh, send where the forest smoke curls,
Send hope to the mountains and deserts and plains,
Send Christ to the dear heathen girl.