Hands

Thank you Lord for dirty hands
That touch my stove and fridge;
For sticky little fingers that
Try to build a bridge.

For careless hands that go astray
In search of something new;
For hands to hold and show the way
As mothers often do.

For precious little hands in which
Great faith so abounds;
For silly little hands that reach
To touch a mother's frown.

And thank you for your guiding hand
That leads me to the light;
That lifts me when I stumble
And points me to the right.

Sheila Townsend

Copyright Sheila Townsend 2000

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