In greater, gentler hands
Our little life is held
Therefore we need not fear nor fret
As sands and seasons meld
Beyond our craving clutch
The numbering of days
Is cradled in a Father’s touch
And guarded ‘neath His gaze
Ah, blessed resting place
Beneath this turbid clime
Abides in unwavering grace
The hand that measures Time
© Janet Martin
Someone just asked about my dad and I told her he was moved
out of ICU yesterday but they are keeping close watch on a blood clot in his
lungs (the reason he can’t get the oxygen he needs). I’m glad he is held in
Hands much bigger than ours.
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