One final time he cast his gaze around That simple corner, cherished and so dear. His workbench stood, the bench was near at hand— The walls, the floor, the ceiling all so clear.
He loved to work with wood till nearly night, And with his craft he helped his fellow men. And often thus, lifting his eyes to height, He called upon the Father once again.
He could have lived as all earth's people do, Crafting his wood to useful, fine design, And when at last death's hour came into view, Have lived his life like any mortal's line.
He could have watched the dawning of each day And marveled at the blue and endless sky. To those in want he could have sent his way Kind greetings, loved and honored in reply.
He could have—yet he did not hesitate, But took the cross and went unto his death. With no misgiving at his destined fate, He passed through betrayal, curse with final breath.
Through ages he beheld our human faces, He longed to solve the problems that we bear. To light the way for those in darkest places, And break the devil's hold and snare.
He went unto the cross to give us hope— For those who drag their lives through sin and shame, To clothe them in white garments pure, to cope, And shine reflected in their hearts aflame.
He went unto the cross that Adam's seed Might speak with their Creator face to face, And break the devil's nets of binding greed, And gift them paradise by endless grace.
