I’m holding far too much
In these anxious hands of mine
Compass and a tiger’s tail
The mask that I’m not wearing
And when I come to worship
The King of all that’s living
I leave too much the same
For this to be the true design
Blessed are the meek
Their hands are raised and empty
Open to receive the gift
Of Love’s eternal hope
I’m holding far too much
My hands are tired and heavy
My prayer is not for strength
Or a way that I can cope
But for hands that give you praise
In their receiving