Tools of creation,
Stronger than nations,
Power without end.
And yet through them
We find our truest friend.
Sermons of kindness,
Healing men's blindness,
Halting years of pain;
Children waiting to be held again.
His hands would serve his whole life through,
Showing man what hands might do,
Giving, ever giving endlessly.
Each day was filled with selflessness,
And I'll not rest till I make up my hands what they could be
Till these hands become like those from Galilee.
Lifting a leper,
Warming a beggar,
Calling back the dead,
Breaking bread, five thousand fed.
Pointing to heaven,
Ever free of sin,
Then bidding man to follow Him.
Clasped in agony,
As He lay pleading, bleeding in the garden.
While just moments away,
Other hands betray Him,
Out of greed, shameful greed.
And then His hands are trembling,
Straining to carry the beam that they've been nailed to,
As He stumbles through the streets,
Heading for the hill,
On which He'd die, He would die.
They take His hands,
His mighty hands,
Those gentle hands.
And then they'd pierce them,
then they'd pierce them,
He lets them because of love.
From birth to death was selflessness,
And clearly now I see Him with His hands calling to me;
And though I'm not yet as I would be,
He had shown me how I could be,
I will make my hands like those from Galilee.
Music and lyrics by Kenneth Cope