His Gentle Hands

As Mary held the tiny babe so close,
She felt the joy of love that now could be expressed.
So soft the fingers curled about her own!
Tenderly she held them, and lovingly caressed
His gentle hands.

At twelve he sought the temple, all alone,
For now, with all the Law, he knew he must comply,
But Mary searched for him with sorrowing:
Not understanding then his need, but took him by
His gentle hands.

His life, though short, was spent in doing good,
And in a world so filled with pain; with simple trust,
The sick, the blind, the lame, all came to him,
In deep compassion of his soul He healed with just
His gentle hands.

But jealous men took counsel for his life.
A traitor `midst his own disciples they had found,
Who sold him, like a common slave, for price,
They came by night and took Him, and with cords they bound
His gentle hands.

Did you go with him through that fearful night;
When e`en before the first soft light of morning came,
They placed upon His head a crown of thorns,
And scourged him sore? Oh, did you see the blood that stained
His gentle hands.

Did you go with him to Golgotha’s hill,
And see the sadness deep within his eyes so true?
And did you see those nails so cruel and cold,
As one by one they pierced his flesh, and drove them through
His gentle hands.

At last the hammer’s dreadful sounds were stilled!
They lifted up that heavy cross against the sky,
While people passing by would mock him sore;
In agonizing grief and shame he hung there by
His gentle hands.

But did you see the love within his eyes,
Enduring, though his body, racked with pain, grew numb;
A love so deep, we cannot comprehend!
And did you weep to see those blood drops falling from
His gentle hands?

Oh did you hear him give that anguished cry?
Then suddenly the sun grew dark—the air was chilled!
“My God, Oh why hast thou forsaken me?”
`Twas finished then! Release from pain, relaxed and stilled
His gentle hands.

* * *

As Mary looked at him with tearful eyes,
In anguish of her heart that could not be repressed.
She thought back to the child that she had borne,
And how she’d held him close, and lovingly caressed
His gentle hands.

Bonnie Jean Gaunt