His Hands

As I look to the cross again,

I recall the story told so many times,

On that day were the world seemed to crumble,

And I see Your hands,

Your hands that reached down to this world,

Offering mercy and compassion,

Hands that extended abundant love,

And gave healing,

Gave rest,

Your hands that curled around Your mother's,

And held Your father's as he worked,

That patted the shoulder of Your friend,

And gave assurance,

Gave comfort,

Your hands that placed the stars in the sky,

That taught the moon to rise at night,

And the sun to fall at dusk,

And gave existence,

Gave life,

Your hands that washed Your servent's feet,

And fed a crowd of hungry people,

That lifted to calm a storm,

And gave peace,

Gave humility,

And I am reminded of these,

As I see Your scars,

And long to touch them, to take the pain instead,

To heal the hands that took the nails,

For a world undeserving,

But what then would those hands have served?

It was the only way.