Not What These Hands Have Done
Not what these hands have done
Can save this guilty soul;
Not what this toiling flesh has borne
Can make my spirit whole.
Thy work alone, O Christ,
Can ease this weight of sin;
Thy blood alone, O Lamb of God,
Can give me peace within.
I bless the Christ of God,
I rest on love divine;
And, with unfaltering lip and heart,
I call this Saviour mine.
His Cross dispels each doubt:
I bury in His tomb
Each thought of unbelief and fear,
Each lingering shade of gloom.
In Him is only good,
In me is only ill;
My ill but draws His goodness forth,
And me He loveth still.
My life with Him is hid,
My death has passed away;
My clouds have melted into light,
My midnight into day.
