1 Nineteen hundred million souls,
Standing near the final goal,
Soon we’ll see the awful judgment on them fall;
Must they truly be consigned
To the pit, and there confined,
Since the blessed Savior shed His blood for all?

2 Every second, sad to tell,
Counts another soul in hell,
Dreadful sight to see them bound in sin’s dark pall;
What in life we all may do,
Can but save a very few,
Yet the blessed Savior shed His blood for all.

3 Though a million be brought in,
There’s a billion yet in sin,
Quickly bear the gospel message unto all;
Preach the word at any cost,
For the world in sin is lost,
Yet the blessed Savior shed His blood for all.

4 Can we tarry home for dross,
While beholding such a loss?
If we can, from heaven’s grace we’ll surely fall;
Quickly leave thy cottage door,
Spread the truth from shore to shore,
For the blessed Savior shed His blood for all.