Within the frame of every face,
I see a need for saving grace;
For when I look, the lines of care,
Of woe and sin are written there.
And, when as children scurry past,
To them a fleeting smile I cast,
They look at me as if I've bread,
And they've been waiting to be fed.
Not just a witness, no, more let me be!
A mover, persuader, of souls, Lord, to thee!