Thou hast no tongue, O Christ, as once of old,
To tell the story of Thy love divine:
The story still as strange, as sweet, as true;
But there’s no tongue to tell it out, but mine.
Thou hast no hands, O Christ, as once of old
To feed the multitudes with bread divine;
Thou hast the living Bread, enough for all,
But there’s no hand to give it out, but mine.
Thou hast no feet, O Christ, as once of old
To go where the lost sheep in deserts pine;
Thy love is still as deep, as strong, as kind,
But now thou hast no feet to go but mine.
And shall I use these ransomed powers of mine
For things that only minister to me?
Lord! Take my tongue, my hands, my feet, my all
And let them live, and give, and go for Thee!