His Loving Hands

He came to earth to give to all
His assurance that He’d save—
He laid His loving hands on men
And words of comfort gave.

One day rang out a beggar’s voice,
A blind man in the crowd,
And though others tried to quiet him,
Still his cries rang loud.

The Master stopped and called for him,
Took pity on his plea—
And with His loving hands reached out
And made his eyes to see.

And when He saw a funeral bier
And a mother bowed in pain,
He touched her son with loving hands
Gave him back to her again.

When a father in great anguish
Brought to Him his son, possessed,
He touched him with His loving hands—
With peace that child was blest.

Once, in pity for a father
Whose precious child had died,
He travelled to the father’s home
And standing by her side,

He looked upon the little girl
In death’s cold and still repose,
And with His loving hand took hers
And living, she arose.

Despite an angry, jeering crowd,
He’d not forsake His task
Of reaching out His loving hands
To all who’d seek or ask.

Then came a day of darkest gloom,
A bitter day of shame,
When a hardened world declared
His very life they’d claim.

Led bloody to a barren hill,
He faced a rough—hewn cross—
It seemed that all the good He’d done
Was counted now as loss.

But with a sacrificial gesture—
His forgiveness would not fail—
He reached out His loving hands
And let them drive each nail.

And now risen—with a grace divine
That no being understands,
He still reaches out and urges all
To take His loving hand.

by Vicki Porter

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