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Your hands molded the moon and stars, brought light into the darkness;
Formed waters great and deep and far, sent music through the stillness.
Your hands brought justice, war, and peace, with things I do not understand.
Among Your many mysteries my name is written on Your hands.
Clothed in flesh, you came to earth, in a stable crude and cold.
Simple, filthy, place of birth for the Author of the world.
Dependent infant, small and frail, who could have known Your master plan:
to take my cross, my debt, my nails and write my name upon Your hands.
Your hands that set the stars in place now touch the very hands of men
and pull them into Your embrace with love to wash away our sin.
Those hands that took redemption's cost, completing God's salvation plan,
captured the pauper, wandering lost, and wrote his name upon Your hands.
Now grasped so safely in Your hold, no foe to fear, no thief can steal.
Your refuge makes the weakest bold. Your child not even death can kill.
No grave to flee for Heav'n is home, with sights no mind can comprehend.
Your grace secures me all because my name is written on Your hands.
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