He held me in his hands
The day that I was born
The very first grandchild
Come into the world that morn
His hands swept me into his arms
Holding me tight by his side
The hands rough from working
But heart devoid of pride
His hands wrapped in bandage
As he lay sleeping in a bed
Awoke from his needed nap
To talk with dad and I instead
His hands working in his garden
Responsibility he’d never shirk
Helping me to pick the berries
Showing me how to work
His hands always serving
Never thinking of himself
Sacrificing all he ever had
His own desires on the shelf
His hands brought to his face
I’d never heard him cough that way
And then he’d smile at us
“It’s just a cough” he’d say
His hands holding mine
As he lay sick and dying
I sat there just holding on
Prayed the doctors were lying
His hands guiding me gently
Helping me to understand
He knew his life was not his own
He put it in the Savior’s hands
Let go of some of life’s demands
If I close my eyes and wait
I can still feel his hands
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