These Are the Hands
Here are the hands, your father's hands,
For you, the ground they tilled.
Hands that cradled, spanked, and laboured
So your life might be filled.
Here are the hands, your mother's hands,
That cherished you from birth.
Hands that bandaged, soothed, and nurtured,
So you might know your worth.
Here are the hands, your brother's hands,
That followed all your laws.
Hands that pestered, played, created,
So you might know your flaws.
Here are the hands, your sister's hands,
That pointed here and there.
Hands that ordered, reached, applauded,
So you might know she cares.
Here are the hands, your good friend's hands,
That always did the same.
Hands that copied, mimed and mimicked,
So you might learn their game.
Here are some hands, some special hands,
So scarred and hurt they've been!
Hands so tortured, nailed, and wounded,
None like you've ever seen.
These are the hands, beloved hands,
That bore the pain for you.
Hands that doctored, prayed and gentled,
So you might know what's true.
Here are my hands, my own two hands,
That look so young and small.
But they accept the gift God gave:
The price He paid for all.