The Hand of Christ

Behold the sea of starlight broad,

    Beyond our highest thought.

Behold the mighty hand of God

    Its length and breadth allot.

Look now! That hand scoops up the dust

    And shapes a masterpiece,

As angels watch with voices hushed

    Each lineament released.

Behold again, this mighty hand

    Outstretched to set them free

Who years had slaved in Egypt’s land,

    But now salvation see.

Then watch that hand appear as flame,

    Engraving in the stone

The law expressing His own name

    And timeless as His throne.

But what is this? A tiny hand

    'Round mother’s finger wrapped!

Oh Earth, why would a love so grand

    Your darkest town attract?

Young hands are bearing water, wood,

    The hammer, and the saw,

Rejoicing still in servanthood

    As when they traced the law.

Watch as that tender touch restores

    Sight, hearing, voice, and mind,

And then unlocks death’s frozen doors,

    Its captives to unbind.

Bread in these hands is never spent

    Till all have had their full.

Even waves yield up their foul intent

    When this hand is raised to rule.

Behold that jealous hand upset

    The tables of the greedy,

Trace through the dust sins that beset

    Those blind that they are needy.

Now see the Master’s hands stoop low

    To wash disciples’ feet,

Then hold the trembling cup of woe

    And drink till it’s complete.

Oh sight too awful to behold!

    Creator’s hands are bound!

Through hands that all the worlds uphold

    Cruel nails with hate are pound!

Innocent hands with guilt weighed down,

    As though they’d done the wrong,

To clear mine from the fearful frown,

    As though pure all along.

Now folded lifeless on His chest,

    They lie in work complete.

But, Sabbath closed, they cease their rest

    And rise in death's defeat.

Behold that hand, its first new deed

    The humblest—folding clothes!

Now for our sake they intercede

    As one who shares our woes.

It’s safe to let go earth's support

    And trust all to this hand,

For it has never yet waxed short

    To answer faith’s demand.

Those who are trusted to its grasp

    Can never be plucked out,

So reach your hand up to its clasp

    And banish every doubt.

Behold that hand, forever scarred,

    Lay hold the pearly gate,

And open wide the way once barred

    To those bound for sin’s fate.

That hand has cleansed each contrite one

    With blood from His own veins,

Clothed each with glory like the sun,

    And blotted out sin's stains.

That glorious hand now places on

    Each head a glittering crown,

And wipes away—forever gone—

    Each sorrow, tear, and frown.

It serves us at the welcome feast,

    A Servant Leader still.

The ones who feel themselves the least

    That hand will more than fill.

Today this loving hand gently

    Comes knocking at your door.

He knows your insufficiency

    And longs to give you more.

Though King of kings, He’ll never press

    Beyond your door—your choice,

But knocks until your ears turn deaf.

    Oh open to His voice!

Today this hand invites your own

    To labor for the lost,

A link extended from His throne

    To save at any cost.

On you His glory will arise

    And fill the whole earth through!

Then let His praise ring to the skies
    Whose hand is faithful, true!

Illustrations: http://www.godisreal.today/pictures-of-jesus (except the photograph)