I am standing bolstered by His love
He lifts me like a feather-weight dove
and helps me do what’s right.
I am living proof of His mercy--
He has made me all that I can be--
despite His nail-torn hands
and His crown of thistle.

I’m surviving on His promises--
hearing all of man’s hypothesis--
but their reasoning smites.
He dwells in ev’rything that’s living;
He continues each day . . . with giving
despite His nail-torn hands
and His crown of thistle.

He helps me to shoulder misery
though it doesn’t solve the mystery
of why He loves us so.
From a baby to our Lord Savior,
He looks upon us all with favor
despite His nail-torn hands
and His crown of thistle.

I hear Him softly calling my name
(know He loves everyone the same)
and I happily go.
Taking His hand, I will follow Him
(no matter how hard or grisly grim)
mindful of nail-torn hands
and His crown of thistle

both that He bore for me
to share eternity.