As a baby, my hands were reaching hands,
Reaching for the help of another.
As a child, my hands were sharing hands,
Sharing with my brother.
As a schoolboy, my hands were writing hands,
Writing what I needed to know.
As a youth, my hands were sporting hands,
Determined my athleticism to show.
As a young man, my hands were working hands,
Trying to earn a living.
As an older man, my hands were fatherly hands,
Guiding, feeding and forgiving.
As a retired man, my hands were resting hands,
Resting from the daily grind.
But still there was plenty to do,
New voluntary work to occupy my hands and mind.
As a much older man, my hands are reaching hands again,
Now looking for someone to help me.
But all through life my hands were praying hands,
And helping hands and giving hands,
And seeking hands and lifting hands,
Serving the God of eternity,
Whose hands were pierced for me.