The wounded hands of a King
Through which we drove the nails,
Still reach out to us
After this heinous deed.
How could we?
These Hands gave us nothing but blessings.
These Hands broke bread to us and multiplied it.
These Hands healed our sick and our blind.
These Hands filled our beggars.
These Hands cast out our demons.
And what was our response?
We seized those beautiful Hands,
Strong Hands so mighty they hold the Universe;
We nailed them to that appalling instrument of
wrongful death
And in our iniquity rejoiced!
We chuckled as we pierced them with long iron
spikes,
Made from the very ore that they created in the
beginning of time.
Will we ever find forgiveness?
Now we know that
We couldn't have done this unspeakable act
Without these Hands restraining the legions of
angels
That were ready to wipe us off the face of this
earth,
To leave not a trace of us, not even a memory.
Instead, these Hands imparted a final blessing.
With their Blood, they washed us clean
And reconciled us to Our God,
Our Creator, Our Father.
Oh Lord, when we think on this,
Your expression of boundless love for us,
Our hearts melt like wax within us
And our spirits are poured out on the ground.
Lord, we worship You.
We adore You.
We exalt these Hands of Love, Your Love.
We wait for the Blood that bathes us in mercy,
That banishes all of our sin.
Copyright June 20, 2003 Sharon Warden
"Sing to God, sing praises to His name; lift up a
song to Him who rides upon the clouds; his name is the Lord, exult before
Him!" Psalm 68: 4
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