Touch the Hand

Touch the hand of the One who forms
The heart of the bud of the rose
Touch the hand that shapes the lilies
And cradles every storm that blows
Touch the hand that heals the wounded
Or washes dusty fields with summer rain
Touch the hand that holds the power
To make the broken-hearted whole again

Touch the hand that held the nails
That pierced the One who sets men free
Touch the hand that loves us still
Though we are vile as we can be
Touch the hand that washes clean
The deepest sin-stains, red as blood
Touch the hand that purifies us
Touch the hand, the hand of God

Oh, touch the hand that will not falter
When it seems no one can understand
When the world’s a cruel shoulder
Won’t you reach to touch the hand?
The hand that soothes the tempest
And brings life to dormant sod
Touch the hand that bears the love-scars
Touch the hand, the hand of God

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin