The world is not a womb and cannot be.

Oh, hands so painful, why do you test me?
I need to write so God must cure me here!
From the world of ills, I wish to flee.

I  feel I am a small boat on a sea.
infirmities  like mine hurt like a spear
Oh,  dainty-fingered hands, why test you me?

The world is not a womb and cannot be.
Within by good and ill we need to steer
Oh, hands so painful, why do you test me?

I hope to turn my face to better see.
Away from this built world where strangers leer
Oh hands, oh heart, oh God, no more test me

To join the club of pain there is no fee.
So for no one human is the price too dear
Oh, hands so painful,  how can suffering be?

We have no other life than this one here.
To see and hear and touch  we feel desire
Oh, hands so painful, why dear Lord, test me?
Yet from this world of ills, I ‘ll never flee,