Haven't I seen your face before?
When last I walked this way,
I never noticed you.
I was blinded by other things
such small and nameless things
were you always there?
I couldn't see your wounds or scars,
you felt no warmth from me; of how,
could you ever call me, "friend?"
Neighbor, dear neighbor, what shall I do?
Could the touch of my hand be his gift to you?
and have I walked by your way, saying others will stay?
When next I come,
will his work be done?
For today, I'm going your way.
His eyes were kind, they saw everything
and whene'er he walked my way,
He always noticed me.
I was sorrowing for many things
through pain and suffering
he was always there.
He could see every wound and scar
He gave new life to me; of how,
Could I ever serve my friend?
Neighbor, dear neighbor, yes, I will do.
May the touch of my hand be his gift to you.
And as I pass by your way, I will see you and pray
"Each time I come,
may his work be done.
Dear Savior, I'm going your way."
--DarEll S. Hoskisson