Oh
those beautiful
beautiful hands!
Tho’ they neither were dainty nor small
Yet my mother’s hands were the fairest
And loveliest hands of all.
My mother’s dear hands
her beautiful hands
Which guided me safe o’er life’s sands
I bless God’s name for the memory
Of mother’s own beautiful hands.
How they cared for my infant days!
They guided my feet into pleasant paths
And smoothed all the rugged ways.
As they pressed my aching brow
They cooled the fever and eased the pain
Methinks I can feel them now.
Thin and wrinkled with age they grew;
But still they toiled on for the child so dear
And her love seemed more tender and true.
Then I stood by her coffin one day
And I kissed those hands so cold and still
As quiet and peaceful she lay.
I shall clasp them again once more
As my feet touch the bank of the heav’nly land;
We shall meet on that shining shore.
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