Christ has no hands but our hands,
To do His work each day;
He has no feet but our feet,
To lead men in His way;
He has no tongues but our tongues,
To tell men how He died;
He has no help but our help,
To bring them to His side.

We are the on­ly Bi­ble
The care­less world will read;
We are the sin­ner’s gos­pel,
We are the scoff­er’s creed;
We are the Lord’s last mes­sage,
He gave in deed and word;
What if the type is crook­ed?
What if the print is blurred?

What if our hands are bu­sy
With oth­er work than His?
What if our feet are walk­ing
Where sin’s al­lure­ment is?
What if our tongues are speak­ing
Of things His lips would spurn?
How can we hope to help Him
And hast­en His re­turn?