Nancy L. Meek
These hands which rocked your cradle
Put your lips to the milk of life
Wiped away your pabulum spilled
And stilled your cries on endless nights.
These are the same which held your hands
Pulled you up to walk, then run
Clapped at words you could pronounce
And counted fingers one-by-one.
These hands which tied your laces
Picked your toys up from the floor
Scrubbed you clean from mud-pie dirt
And worked with love till they were sore.
These are those now pressed in prayer
Since you have fled our nest
To ask the Lord to take His hands
And hold you to His loving breast.
These hands are those you need,
For the work of mine is done;
His hands will mold and guide you
In your new life with your own son.
©Copyright July 15, 1967 by Nancy L. Meek