The Touch of His Tender Hand

Far away in a land that is dark­er than night

Deep sha­dows o’er­spread­ing the sky

In the isles of the sea for a Sav­ior they wait—

For the touch of His hand they sigh.

For the touch of His hand

For the touch of His hand

They wait in the isles of the roll­ing sea

For the touch of His ten­der hand.

Unloved and un­cher­ished

they sink in­to woe

For com­fort your hands could be­stow;

O Sav­ior

Thy heart must be break­ing with grief

Still call­ing for reap­ers to go.

The Day-Star is shedd­ing His beau­ti­ful ray

That each may be warmed and be blest;

Yet mill­ions now per­ish from cold win­ter’s blast

And die with­out com­fort or rest.

The hand that brought life to the lone wi­dow’s son

And heal­ing in dear Ga­li­lee—

For that life giv­ing touch they are call­ing afar

They are call­ing to you and to me.