Broken Fingers

Broken fingers, bleeding, cold . . .
I am too weak to hold this rock.
Forgive me, Lord! Forget my name . . .
Forget You ever died for me.
Just let me slip, slip, slip away
Into the darkness of this sin.
The torrent’s black, and grim and fierce,
But it would be so easy . . . .

No, save me, Lord! my heart must cry,
I cannot live without my God!
I cannot go back to death;
I cannot let go of life.
You will not let go of me;
You will not set my conscience free
To be with sin again as friends.
You must make me faithful still . . . .

Broken fingers, bleeding, cold . . .
But Your unseen hands on mine
Will hold me lightly, surely safe
Through brutal storms and bitter gales;
And though sin’s darkness sucks at me
And I’m too weak to hold this rock,
You, my life, make me live in You;
You, my Savior, save me still.