These old hands have
folded,
Many times in faithful prayer,
Asking God to please intervene,
And giving praise for His care.
These old hands have held babies,
In comfort and undying love,
Wiped tears from weeping eyes,
Seeking guidance from up above.
These old hands have toiled the fields,
Plowing and planting seeds,
Cooked meals for the hungry,
Sewn blankets for those in need.
These old hands have kept busy,
Idle hands are not good 'tis said,
Sought and witnessed to a brother,
Held the Bible as verses were read.
These old hands have played with children,
Washed and hung clothes out in the sun,
Chopped wood and milked cows when needed,
Consoled neighbors when bad times come.
These old hands have done many things,
Accomplished through the Lord above,
Wrinkled and calloused they are worn,
Yet still performed tasks filled with love.
These old hands belonged to a Mother,
Large family reared in the shadow of God,
Living what she taught to those around her,
Walking in His footprints daily as she trod.
These old hands now belong to an angel,
At rest from the trials and burdens she'd known,
I look around and see the work of these hands,
From the harvest of God's love thus sown.
Gayle Davisİ
28 June 2008
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