In The Hands of One Another
We rise not solely by our own,
But by the seeds of grace we've sown—
In helping hands and kind replies,
In weary smiles and tear-wiped eyes.
No throne outshines a servant’s grace,
Who bends to lift the lowly place.
Their crown is forged in quiet deeds,
In tending wounds, in meeting needs.
The measure of a soul is told.
Not by the wealth their coffers hold,
But by the light their presence gives—
By how they help others live.
A gentle word, a silent prayer,
A soul who simply stops to care—
These acts, though small, are great indeed,
They heal the world in time of need.
For service is a sacred art,
It shapes the hands and molds the heart.
It does not seek the loud applause,
But honors truth, and lifts just cause.
Each time we kneel to bind a shoe,
Or guide a path, or see it through—
We echo through the ancient song
That says: To serve is to belong.
We are not islands set apart
But waves that stir the common heart.
Our fate is bound by thread and flame—
No face is foreign, none to shame.
So let us walk this human way,
With humble strength, day after day.
To serve, to love, to gently be—
The keepers of our dignity.
Copyright © Floyd Neal | Year Posted 2025
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