The Master's Hands

The Master's hands -
What hands are they
That guide me through
Each night and day?

Hands that held me
Before my birth
Molded and fashioned in His design
Created for life on this earth.

Before I ever came to be,
Each moment of my life He planned.
Even my name
Is written there upon His hand.

Work-worn hands
That crafted wood,
Yet every tear
He understood.

Calloused, rough -
What hands are they?
'Tis the Master's
Is what they say.

Never knew
A touch more tender,
One that knew
Of Heaven's splendor.

Healing hands
That touch the sick,
Those whom society
Deems "unfit."

Hands that raise
The dead to life
Frees the captives
Conquers strife.

Bleeding hands
Nailed to the tree.
Hanging there,
It was for me.

Hands that reach down
Near to us -
He is the One
Whom we can trust.

Hands that hold us
Lest we fall
He's the best friend
Of all.

None can snatch us
From His hand
For on His promises
We stand.

He the potter
We the clay.
Oh let Him mold me
Day by day.
a.m.d.