top of page


Insomuch as I have lived,

Always I have spied

Hands of different sizes

Resting at each human’s side

Respecting hands flat on the heart

And hands stretched out to greet

Hands at work and hands at play

Kissed hands so sweet

Throughout the working places

In houses big and small

Though the hand be a small member,

It helps us one and all.

The carpenter’s hands are strong, gnarled, and rough

The nails of his hands are cracked

And every line within the palm suggests the artist’s craft

The preacher’s hands are pale,

The knuckles: white as snow

From the weary task of directing poor sinner’s

In the way that they should go

The musician is a wonderment.

His hands so nimble and full of grace

But carpals only last so long,

Arthritis takes their place

God’s Hands are the most captivating to me,

They can’t be seen, or touched, or tangibly felt

Yet they are in our midst every moment

I feel them in life’s hurricane’s eye:

They are the mainstay.

When my life is naught but bad dreams,

Loose seams, and unraveling schemes,

His Hands are in the starry sky,

I may see them on moonbeams

A touch here or there

Is not how God works:

His fingers sift through all of us as

Sand, the oceans course

And my hands are young

My fingers, long, supple and strong

But I know not how my own strength will last

Nor how long

I only hope God will grant me grace

And give my fingers strength

To hold another’s hand,

And to fold my hands in thanks.

"Hands" by Nina Ricci ©2008 All Rights Reserved

1 view0 comments

Recent Posts

See All
bottom of page