His Hands
Rising early to seek the Lord, while he may be found
I take a breath to cleanse my heart while the world keeps spinning ‘round
As the sun peaks o’er the edge to wake from thoughtful sleep
I find my own thoughts leaning to, and plunge in waters deep
I think about the hands of God; the wounds he took for me
The weight of that heavy cross he bore to set me free
I think of his strong and sure embrace to comfort when I’m down
How those hands lift me up and turn my every frown
When sickness rears its ugly head, His hands are there to heal
I know He’s with me when I pray, hands touch me when I kneel
His hands are there to point the way; they’ve guided all along
His hands, like a father should, correct me when I’m wrong
When my very world is shaking, I know that Heaven stands
When my anxious heart is breaking, I’ll not let go His hands.
By Christopher Thor Britt and Lucy Gutierrez Matos - 2014
Motif: Spirituality
A Collaboration
Copyright © Christopher Thor Britt | Year Posted 2014
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