I have longed to be like Jesus since the day I was reborn With a heart formed by the Father, by His hands so strong and warm For although my soul was perfect, this old heart had far to go It was lofty and self serving; never broken, hard as stone
But the only way to change my heart was not to mold like clay He must carve it with a chisel that would break the stone away So pain became my teacher and its lessons I learned well As every trial would test me with each wounding swing that fell
One day I asked my Father as He formed His shapeless art "Where did You find that chisel, Lord, that breaks so hard my heart?" He took me to a village, somewhere, long before my time And showed me where a blacksmith, there, was working near his mine
The local king had ordered that some special spikes be made To perform a certain service later on that ancient day The smith stoked up his furnace till it singed his heavy beard And the strikes that made his hammer ring were heard by every ear
Then he spun the massive whetstone, pressed each spike against its edge And the sparks shot out like lightening as he sharpened up the ends The spikes, still warm from grinding, then were gathered in a cloth And delivered to the mountain with the prisoner and the cross
Instantly I understood just what he made them for The chisels used to shape my heart first crucified my Lord Now every stroke that life will bring I'll welcome like a prize For every chip that falls away will make me more like Christ