"My hands were filled with many things
That I did precious hold,
As any treasure of a king's—
Silver, or gems, or gold.
The Master came and touched my hands,
(The scars were in His own)
And at His feet my treasures sweet
Fell shattered, one by one.
'I must have empty hands,' said He,
'Wherewith to work My works through thee.'
"My hands were stained with marks of toil,
Defiled with dust of earth;
And I my work did ofttimes soil,
And render little worth.
The Master came and touched my hands,
(And crimson were His own)
But when, amazed, on mine I gazed,
Lo! every stain was gone.
'I must have cleansed hands,' said He,
'Wherewith to work My works through thee.'
"My hands were growing feverish
And cumbered with much care!
Trembling with haste and eagerness,
Nor folded oft in prayer.
The Master came and touched my hands,
(With healing in His own)
And calm and still to do His will
They grew—the fever gone.
'I must have quiet hands,' said He,
'Wherewith to work My works for Me.'
"My hands were strong in fancied strength,
But not in power divine,
And bold to take up tasks at length,
That were not His but mine.
The Master came and touched my hands,
(And might was in His own!)
But mine since then have powerless been,
Save His are laid thereon.
'And it is only thus,' said He,
'That I can work My works through thee.'"
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This poem was included in the book QUIET TALKS ON POWER, written by S.D.Gordon and published in 1903 and is available on Project Gutenberg. The poem had no title and the author was anonymous.