Give my tiny hands needle and thread
and they will work to mend this broken world.
Rest on my shoulder your frowning head
and it will provide comfort for your woes.
I will lend you my ear,
again and again,
as you pour out your heart and soul to me--
if only your sorrows could be free.

Give me supplies and I will go make,
a tower to heaven for all the world to take.
By His grace we are saved.
He is the maker and I am only the clay.
Justice and peace, love transcending all.... I pray.

Day by day, my steeps quicken with speed,
fastening down for the ever growing need,
that the world continues to bear.
She gives birth to more tears every hour
than a gentle smile could ever hope to devour,
but all hope is not lost yet,
for what's that I see on the horizon--
community, freedom, good-will,
and grace.

One day,
love will be all that is left
to fill up this empty sace.