His were the hands
That shaped the wood
That smoothed the knot
That summoned the friends
And launched the boat

His were the hands
That touched the blind
And opened ears
That held the child
And cast out fears

His were the hands
That fingered the coin
That plucked the corn
That wrote in sand
And stilled a storm

His were the hands
That calmed the crowd
That broke the bread
And shared the fish
Till all were fed

His were the hands
That filled the bowl
That took the towel
And washed their feet
On bended knee

His were the hands
That stretched out wide
That folded in prayer
That yielded to nails
That measured his care

His were the hands
That gave them joy
When shown to friends
With scars that marked
His love without end.

–inspired by Michael Rosen

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