Today while it rained, I washed the jars
Then I lit a flame, and set the water to start
And at the end of the day, lined up the cooled and sealed
12 pints of spiced peach jam, 20 jars of dill beets canned
From an old recipe, that my mother gave to me
Because it's good to put a little bit by
For when the late snows fly
All that love so neatly canned
By the work of our hands
We lay hands on boards and bricks and loud machines
With shovels and rakes, and buckets of soup they clean
And I believe that we should bless every shirt ironed and pressed
So let the crews out on the roads, those who stock shelves and carry loads
Whisper thanks to the brooms and saws, dirty boots and coveralls
Bow my head to the waitress and nurse
Tip my hat to the farmer and clerk
All those saints with skillets and pans and the work of their hands
The work of their hands
Laid out on the counter, pulled up out of hot water
The work of our hands so faithful and true
I make something barely there, music is a little more than air
So now every year I put by tomatoes and pears
Boil the lids and wipe the lip with a calloused fingertip
And I swear by the winter ground, I'll open one and pass the thing around
Let the light catch the jar, ever gold as a falling star
So humble and physical, it's only love made visible
They'll understand, it's just the work of our hands