Interesting poems about hands that entertain us about things related to hands in different ways. A hand can be a helping hand, the hand of God, the hand of a loved one. Hope you will focus on positive use of hands.
Table of Contents
The Light That Is Felt
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Helping Hands
Poet: Unknown
I think if we reach out a helping hand
To those who faint and falter by the way –
If by our sympathy and kindly aid
Some sorrowing heart finds happiness each day.
And if we ever carry in our hands
The mantle of sweet charity and grace
To shield the weak and erring ones of earth
And lift them up to a securer place,
Then I believe if our incautious feet
Should wander out where thorns and thistles grow,
God still would follow us with boundless love
And lead us where the living waters flow.
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Beautiful Hands
Poet: Unknown
Such beautiful, beautiful hands!
They are neither white nor small,
And some, I know, would scarcely think
That they were fair at all.
I’ve looked on hands, of form and hue,
A sculptor’s dream might be,
Yet are these aged, wrinkled hands
Most beautiful to me.
Such beautiful, beautiful hands!
When her heart was weary and sad,
These patient hands kept toiling on,
That the children might be glad.
I often mourn when looking back
To childhood’s distant day,
I think these hands were toiling hard
When mine were at their play.
Such beautiful, beautiful hands!
They are growing feeble now,
For time and toil have left their mark
On heart and hand and brow,
Alas! alas! the nearing time,
The sad, sad day to me
When, ‘neath the daisies out of sight,
These hands will folded be.
But oh! beyond these shadowy lands,
Where all is bright and fair,
But in the city pure of God,
Beneath the tree of life,
Beside the stream of water clear,
Those hands will surely bear
The palms of victory bestowed,
Through all the endless years.
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The Hand Of God
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My Handprints
Poet: Unknown
Sometimes you get discouraged
Because I am very small
And always leave my fingerprints
On furniture and walls.
But everyday I’m growing . . .
I’ll be all grown-up someday,
And all the tiny fingerprints
Will surely fade away.
So here’s a real hand print
Just so you can recall,
Exactly how my fingers looked
When I was very small.
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Hold Thou My Hands
Poet: William Canton
Hold Thou my hands!
In grief and joy, in hope and fear,
Lord, let me feel that Thou art near:
Hold Thou my hands!
If e’er, by doubts
Of Thy good Fatherhood depressed,
I cannot find in Thee my rest,
Hold Thou my hands!
Hold Thou my hands, –
These passionate hands too quick to smite,
These hands so eager for delight,
Hold Thou my hands.
And when, at length,
With darkened eyes and fingers cold,
I seek some last loved hand to hold,
Hold Thou my hands!
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Oh, Lay Thy Hand In Mine, Dear
Poet: Gerald Massey
Oh, lay thy hand in mine, dear!
We’re growing old,
But Time hath brought no sign, dear,
That hearts grow cold.
‘Tis long, long since our new love
Made life divine;
But age enricheth true love,
Like noble wine.
And lay thy cheek to mine, dear,
And take thy rest;
Mine arms around thee twine, dear,
And make thy nest.
A many cares are pressing
On this dear head,
But Sorrow’s hands in blessing
Are surely laid.
Oh, lean thy life on mine, dear!
‘Twill shelter thee.
Thou wert a winsome vine, dear,
On my young tree;
And so, till boughs are leafless,
And song-birds flown,
We’ll twine, then lay us, griefless,
Together down.
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Things That Never Die
by Charles Dickens
The timid hand stretched forth to aid
A brother in his need,
A kindly word in grief’s dark hour
That proves a friend indeed;
The plea for mercy, softly breathed,
When justice threatens high
The sorrow of a contrite heart
These things shall never die.
The memory of a clasping hand,
The pressure of a kiss,
And all the trifles, sweet and frail,
That make up love’s first bliss;
If with a firm, unchanging faith,
And holy trust and high,
Those hands have clasped, those lips have met
These things shall never die.
Let nothing pass, for every hand
Must find some work to do;
Lose not a chance to waken love
Be firm and just and true;
So shall a light that cannot fade
Beam on thee from on high,
And angel voices say to thee
These things shall never die.
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Clasp His Hand
Poet: Helen Eldridge
Dear child, dost feel too sad to pray?
Then clasp God’s hand.
You’ve but to reach a wee, wee way,
Since He’s been waiting for you aye;
He’s always known you’d need, this day,
To clasp His hand.
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Do God’s Will
Poet: Unknown
No service in itself is small;
None great, though earth it fill;
But that is small that seeks its own,
And great that seeks God’s will.
Then hold my hand, most gracious God,
Guide all my goings still;
And let it be my life’s one aim,
To know and do thy will.
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