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Gnarled Old Hands.
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Poetry by Bern. Gnarled Old Hands.
- Gnarled old hands, worn with toil,
- Fingers that are stiff and bent.
- These are the hands that have worked the soil.
- In many long years well spent.
- Once you held seeds in those hands,
- Handled them with love and care.
- Sewn them over the barren lands,
- That others your labours might share.
- Those hands harvest the crops of corn,
- The sweat pouring from your brow.
- A beloved Son to you was born,
- Now his hands are holding the plough.
- As you gaze over the newly ploughed fields,
- Do your fingers cramp as of old.
- Are your thoughts of the harvests wield,
- That cannot be weighed with gold.
- The time is coming for those hands to rest,
- Years of work have taken their toll,
- Loved ones will fold them across your breast.
- And lasting peace will come to your soul,
- Your eyes will be opened as your maker you meet.
- Those gnarled old hands are at rest.
- Heavenly rewards will be so sweet,
- For you have given of your best.
