Little Hands

Tiny hands,

The first sweet visioning of love's caress

Striving to twine a finger on a tress

Or press a bosom fair

Tiny hands I love.

Little Hands, not always clean or still or doing right,

Come creeping round the dreaming head at night

To smooth the furrows out

Little hands I love

Brown hands so full of manly strength and gentle power

In their firm hold I should not fear death's hour

But now for now evry day

Brown hands I love

Old hands, perhaps a little horny rough and worn

God grant that on the last long journey home

I feel the pressure of

old hands I love

Old hands I love