The Hand

That instrument of touch
Where tells our anxious moods,
Where strength and weakness meet,
Where grasp our spiritual food,

O hand of my delight,
To touch your trembling palm,
To bless your feverish brow,
To offer sacred balm.

Lead me, O Breath of God,
To open thou my hand,
To touch the sick and sore,
To point the promised land.

I bow beneath your Wing,
Its shade I find secure,
As long as life shall last,
As long as love endures.

Al Carden