Not perfectly moulded, not smooth and cold
Suggesting the touch of senseless gold,
But warm and pulsing hands, tenderly
Thrilling the wealth of a heart to me.
Hands that are willing and busy and warm;
Hands that are eager to shelter from harm;
Hands that are capable--potent indeed,
Quickly outstretched to another's need.
Ready and restful hands, loving and strong,
But soothing and soft as a lullaby song;
Hands with the magic given suffering to ease;
Oh, who would not worship such dear hands as these!