Jesus Was A Carpenter

Jesus was a Carpenter
Jesus was a carpenter, and He worked with a saw and a hammer;
And His hands form a table true enough to stand forever;
And He might have spun His life out in the coolness of the mornings;
But He put aside his tools, and He walked the burning highways
To build a house from folks like you and me;
And He found them as they wandered trough the wild Judean Mountains,
And He found them as they pulled their nets upon the Sea of Galilee;
And for a thousand evenings, while the day behind Him emptied,
He walked among the poor, and He stopped to touch the dying,
And He built His house from people just like these;
And He on a shining Sunday when He rode to old Jerusalem
And the palms they cast before Him were the crimes they laid against Him.
It was on a storming Friday when He climbed the streets to Calvary;
And where He died today why they?re sellin? beads and postcards;
And they tell us, too, that that was long ago;
But, would He stand today upon the sands of California
Or walk the sweating blacktop in New York and Mississippi,
Where the mighty churches rise above the screaming cities,
Would He be a guest on Sunday, a vagrant on a Monday,
With the doors locked tight against His kind, you know;
Come again now Jesus be a carpenter among us;
There are chapels in our discontent, cathedrals in our sorrow;
And we dwell in golden mansions, with the sand for our foundations,
And the raging waters ring, and the thunder?s all around us
Won?t you come and build a house on rock again?
Jesus was a carpenter, and He worked with a saw and a hammer;
And His hands form a table true enough to stand forever;
And He might have spun His life out in the coolness of the mornings;
But He put aside His tools, and He walked the burning highways
To build a house from folks like you and me;