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Hands
The hands of a child;
Fragile and small;
To mother is clinging
So he won't fall.
The hands of a carpenter,
Rough and strong;
Driving those nails
All day long.
The hands of a healer,
Are reaching down,
To some poor cripple
There on the ground.
The hands of a savior
Now reaching out;
To rescue us from
Our sin and doubt.
The hands of a friend
Tearing the bread;
So they would remember
When he was dead.
The hands of a lamb,
Held that cup;
His precious blood
On that last sup.
The hands of a messiah,
Nailed to the cross;
To save us all
From eternal loss.
The hands of the risen
Are calling to me;
Come my child,
I'll set you free.
By Mark
P. Nations Jr.
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