The hand that was nailed to the cross of woe,
In love reaches out to the world below;
’Tis beckoning now to the souls that roam,
And pointing the way to the heav’nly home.
The hand of my Savior I see,
The hand that was wounded for me;
’Twill lead me in love to the mansions above,
The hand that was wounded for me!
E’en now I can see, through a mist of tears,
That hand still outstretched o’er the gulf of years,
With healing and hope for my sin sick soul,
One touch of its finger will make me whole!
The hand that wrought wonders in days of old,
Holds treasure more precious than gems or gold,
The price of redemption from sin and shame,
The gift of salvation through Jesus’ name.