These hands that hold mine
In warm embrace,
Each scar has a story,
Each line has been traced,
These hands that catch me
Each time I leap,
And tuck me into bed
When I fall asleep,
These hands that right me
When I fall down,
And pat me on the back,
And turn me around,
These hands that show me,
How I should live,
To build things and play hard,
To respect and give,
These hands are my guide,
For who to be,
Their strength, warmth and safety
Are precious to me.
And someday, Papa,
They will be mine,
Hands that help in your life,
Like yours did in mine.
W. C. McClure 