A dear lit­tle face looked up in­to mine,
So wea­ry and worn and sad,
As if it were plead­ing for one bright smile,
To make the lit­tle heart glad.
But the smile was de­nied, the look had failed
To touch a ten­der chord,
And all be­cause I was then out of touch,
I was then out of touch with the Lord.

I met with a friend, she was tired and worn,
So trou­bled with anx­ious care;
She showed on her face the trou­ble with­in,
’Twas plain­ly writ­ten there,
It might, had I stopped, have com­fort­ed her,
To speak one plea­sant word,
But I did not, be­cause I was then out of touch,
I was then out of touch with the Lord.

A poor lit­tle work­er toiled hard one day,
A glance at her would tell,
She looked up at me, as much as to say,
Is not my work done well?
A word of ap­prov­al might have been giv’n,
That much I could af­ford,
But I did not, be­cause I was then out of touch,
I was then out of touch with the Lord.

A smile or a word, an en­cour­ag­ing look,
What lit­tle things they seem;
How far they go, to make hap­pi­ness,
Scarce any of us would dream.
Keep me, Lord, al­ways in touch with Thee,
And fill me with grace di­vine,
Let bless­ings flow un­to oth­ers from me,
And re­ward, sweet re­ward will be mine.