Passes the place where once abode The Carpenter of Nazareth.
And up and down the dusty way The village folk would often wend;
And on the bench, beside Him, lay Their broken things for Him to mend.
The maiden with the doll she broke, The woman with the broken chair,
The man with broken plough, or yoke, Said, “Can you mend it, Carpenter?”
And each received the thing he sought, In yoke, or plough, or chair, or doll;
The broken thing which each had brought Returned again a perfect whole.
So, up the hill the long years through, With heavy step and wistful eye,
The burdened souls their way pursue, Uttering each the plaintive cry:
“O Carpenter of Nazareth, This heart, that’s broken past repair,
This life, that’s shattered nigh to death, Oh, can You mend them, Carpenter?”
And by His kind and ready hand, His own sweet life is woven through
Our broken lives, until they stand A New Creation—“all things new.”
“The shattered substance of the heart, Desire, ambition, hope, and faith,
Mould Thou into the perfect part, O, Carpenter of Nazareth!”
--George Blair
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