Poem About A Man's Hands

By the Touch of the Masters Hand. The nets the water this was his life. I too want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face. A womans heart Glowing warm within To care to cheer to love Whichever man may need. My steps my times my plans Lord are daily in your hands As a yielded servant I wait on Your command. In the Hands of Man. A working man thats what you are a young dependable not entirely punctual working man and you can do anything with your working hands fix a tap wire a circuit build a garden wall or fell a tree you can do whatever you put your hands to you can be whatever you want to be Something breaks with working hands Ill try to fix it but it takes time to learn.

He is going once he is going twice He is going and almost gone.

And loving letters leave to clasping hands To speak the heart-throbs hid between the lines Old age must one day touch my darlings brow Her dear face wrinkle and her large eyes dim. Now my gnarled hands have learned. Then later khaki discarded home again the welcoming hands of the woman. In the Hands of Man. Poem written by Melinda Clements 2004. He who creates a virus also has the antidote.

N R Hart A Man S Hands Gearing Up For Valentine S

Poem about a man's hands. A turn of cards an old mans hands to frame a prayer in memorys eyes the final ace some withered hope that life is not a sad remembrance of winning hands or lost this old mans hands with innocence reach out to place a bet a hope filled blessing to the mirror of youth I look upon these hands have loved and lost nurtured cherished chided pleaded past age these old. And loving letters leave to clasping hands To speak the heart-throbs hid between the lines Old age must one day touch my darlings brow Her dear face wrinkle and her large eyes dim. A hand is not four fingers and a thumb.

By fools in old-style hats and coats Who half the time were soppy-stern. But the Master comes And the foolish crowd never can quite understand The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought. With small and podgy hands to hold a doll a teddy bear a bat a ball.

He danced to heavy beats but in the silence of his closet Mussorgsky bellowed. I too want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face. I know he has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God.

Working with his calloused hands. In the Hands of Man. In Gods hands We worship and rest Believing Jesus has Freed us from certain death.

He who creates a poison also has the cure. Theyve never made a Christmas gift shaped by a lovin hand. My steps my times my plans Lord are daily in your hands As a yielded servant I wait on Your command.

Beautiful hands my sweet young bride He laughed as he brushed the soil that clung to her hands from the garden plot where shed spent long hours of toil. I loved so dearly with whom babies were made. Now my gnarled hands have learned.

They fill you with the faults they had. And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of God I will never look at my hands the same again.

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But then her hands will touch the hands of him Who lives for her with thrill as sweet as now.

He who creates a virus also has the antidote. My steps my times my plans Lord are daily in your hands As a yielded servant I wait on Your command. I too want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face. Now my gnarled hands have learned. And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch his face I will never look at my hands the same again. Ordinary men laity common. Out and took my Grandpas hands and led him home. In Gods hands We worship and rest Believing Jesus has Freed us from certain death. He greeted with an hidalgo turn of wrist and breathed the country.

Nor is it palm and knuckles not ligaments or the fats yellow pillow not tendons star of the wristbone meander of veins. T his was a man with wooden hands. The end lines are intense and I can feel the pain. In Gods hands We worry and work Following fallen man In a never-ending search. A womans soul Radiant torch within To light the darkness To lift above today To light tomorrow To brighten up the way. Our hands are one of the things that sets us apart from apes even evil genius ones. Nor is it palm and knuckles not ligaments or the fats yellow pillow not tendons star of the wristbone meander of veins.