| In an upstairs room, a parable
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| Is just about to come alive
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| And while they bicker about who’s best
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| With a painful glance, He’ll silently rise
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| Their Savior Servant must show them how
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| Through the will of the water
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| And the tenderness of the towel
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| And the call is to community
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| The impoverished power that sets the soul free
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| In humility, to take the vow
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| That day after day we must take up the basin and the towel
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| In any ordinary place
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| On any ordinary day
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| The parable can live again
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| When one will kneel and one will yield
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| Our Saviour Servant must show us how
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| Through the will of the water
|
| And the tenderness of the towel
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| The space between ourselves sometimes
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| Is more than the distance between the stars
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| By the fragile bridge of the Servant’s bow
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| We take up the basin and the towel
|
| And the call is to community
|
| The impoverished power that sets the soul free
|
| In humility, to take the vow
|
| That day after day we must take up the basin
|
| And the call is to community
|
| The impoverished power that sets the soul free
|
| In humility, to take the vow
|
| That day after day we must take up the basin
|
| That day after day we must take up the basin
|
| That day after day we must take up the basin and the towel
|
| Take up the basin and the towel, basin and towel |