I STUDIED THE HANDS OF A WOMAN SO OLD

THEY BORE WRINKLES, AND SPOTS, AND FINGERS, SO COLD

GNARLED AND CRIPPLED IS WHAT SOME FOLKS SEE

THEIR USEFULNESS PAST; OH, BUT NOT ME.

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AN ABUNDANCE OF YEARS

HAVE CHANGED HER STRONG HANDS TO FRAIL

BUT IF WE JUST LISTEN,

THEY HAVE A STORY TO TELL:

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I SEE HANDS THAT ONCE GREW A GARDEN,

REARED CHILDREN, AND BAKED BREAD

THEY TIED SHOE LACES, PEELED POTATOES,

AND TUCKED BABIES INTO BED

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THEY TELL A LONG STORY

OF A LIFE FILLED WITH YEARS

BRIMMING WITH SMILES, AND LAUGHTER,

AND A SEA FILLED WITH TEARS

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THESE HANDS ARE NOT SPENT

BUT NOW FOLD IN SILENT PRAYER

THANKING GOD FOR HIS MERCY,

HIS LOVE, AND HIS CARE

​

HER HANDS, IN THE EYES OF THE FATHER

ARE NEITHER WRINKLED, NOR OLD

BUT TREASURED, CHERISHED, AND LOVED

MORE PRECIOUS THAN GOLD

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SO, WHEN MY HANDS GROW OLD, YOUR HANDS TOO

LET US BE GRATEFUL FOR LIFE'S GIFT OF MANY DAYS

WHETHER FOLDED IN PRAYER OR LIFTED HIGH

LET US THANK OUR MAKER WITH GLORIOUS PRAISE