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I was just a little girl, when I saw them, The hands that blessed my heart, With kindness, compassion and attention, Hands that sought to protect me, Bless me with their endless gifts, such affection. I learned, as the years moved by me, That those hands were ever a guide for me, Reassuring me of the love in their touch, Lending me the wonder of a devotion – That inspires, soothes and never gives up. As time gave me reasons to fear, And my life was sometimes filled with tears, Those hands wiped away the pain, With concern that had nothing to gain, Promising me that, through life, those hands… Working hands, remarkably strong – But just as gentle as the whisper of a song, Coloring my life in faith, my hopes stirred, Erasing the darkest days with assurance That, those hands, would ever console me. I remember those hands of love, hands, Gesturing to the light where feeling reflects All the beautiful, the joy, the amazing That comes to those who appreciate the touch, From working hands, hands who seek to support. Those hands, working for all the right reasons, To give to those who God has given, The children, the family, the glorious meaning Of a life filled with affection, adoration and praise, That abides inside the soul who knows… Working hands are more than just practical. They seek to give a hope to those who may lack, Those who believe, without seeing… That God is the answer, the reason, the promise, Love that never leaves – love that always agrees… Appreciation of the love, the guidance, the prayers, The promise of a soul who will always care, The gentleness of a touch from hands that are aware… even when all hope seems lost, this love – it prepares, the heart and soul – with warmth that continues to grow, love that moves the soul to never let go of those hands, working hands who remind us – when life is hard, when the struggles come… down-to-earth gifts from loved ones who insist, love is more than words – love is heard in hands who pray – upturned to face the One who always makes a way!
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