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The holy meal,

In love blessed.


By custom missed.


Robes laid aside, 

that He must serve.

The Master’s hands did take,

A basin and cloth,

Each disciple’s foot to face.


Every foot,

Soiled by life’s tread,

The Creator’s hand’s did take.

And each created foot embraced and washed,

 in holy love to place.


Each disciple,

Every step He knew.

Stumbling followers,

Seeking to be true.


John the Beloved,

And Peter the Rock.  

Who in denial soon would drop.

Even Judas, whose calloused heart and feet,

Soon His Lord, to betray, would run

for such a little sum.


Every foot He washed.

Each soul’s journey knew He well.

And each soul now,

He also seeks, with, to dwell.


So to His hands, 

now pierced in Love,

Our hearts may come,

To cleanse and heal.


May to his hands we fully trust.

Never more from Him to run.

May to His voice we listen, know.

His call to follow, 

His call to grow.


Onward in this quest of life.

To trust, to love, to serve,

Following He who’s feet,

To Calvary did go.

After that holy meal to show,

Us, the way of love to grow.

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